


Broken Wings

by Wenderful52



Series: Two Thrones [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: An Invincible Summer, And Winter Came..., Bard has a HUGE dog!, Barduil - Freeform, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Galion's got a new hubby, Gen, Hilda rocks, Kingdoms of the North, Legolas Ion nîn, M/M, Percy's great, They don't make Elves like they used to, Two Thrones Series, What Makes a King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2020-10-10 01:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 236,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wenderful52/pseuds/Wenderful52
Summary: Bard and Thranduil look forward to a plentiful harvest for both their Kingdoms, as they watch their now-complete family grow even closer together.Daeron and Rhian, only recently married have been blindsided by some recent news, and it puts a strain on their marriage.  After all they’ve been through together, will their love survive this?Turamarth and Evranin struggle to overcome their painful pasts, in order to look to the future, but Evvy’s growing friendship with a Woodland Elf named Saeros causes problems, and lives could be at stake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are again, folks! I hope you enjoy this latest installments of my "Two Thrones" series! Welcome back to all my regular readers, and welcome to any new ones out there!

It’s the first day of school, again, Thranduil isn’t comfortable with how fast their children are growing up.

Lord Elrond and his entourage make plans to return home, but not before giving some last-minute instructions to his protégé, as well as a listening ear, and a bit of advice.

Evvy writes to her father and brother and tells them about her first few weeks at the Palace!

* * *

_“So, take these broken wings_

_And learn to fly again_

_Learn to live so free_

_When we hear the voices sing_

_The book of love will open up_

_And let us in…”_

** _ “Broken Wings,”  _ ** _ by** Mr. Mister** _

**City of Dale, 4th of September 2944 T.A.**

Classes for Bain and Tilda had started today, and Thranduil had been looking forward to another year of walking his _Tithen Pen_ to school. But this morning, when he entered Bard’s study, the Elf looked despondent. 1

“How did it go?” Bard asked warily, as Meryl, Tilda's little pug, followed him in and snuggled down next to Thangon for a morning nap.

“She does not want me to hold her hand, anymore.” The Elf’s worried eyes met his. “She said she did not mind on the way, but she does not want to look like a baby in front of her friends.”

Despite Bard’s sympathy, he wasn’t surprised; he’d had been waiting for this. 

He rose from his desk and stepped over to give his husband a kiss on his forehead. “Why don’t we talk about this somewhere more private? You look like you could use a strong drink, yeah?”

“Could we?”

Bard stuck his head into Percy’s office. “Hey Pers, I’m taking the morning off. If anyone asks, I’ll be available after lunch.”

“Sure thing, kid.” The Steward didn’t look up from his papers. “Don't mind me; I'll just toil away alone, here.”

"I knew you'd understand." He pointed to the giant dog on by the fireplace. _“Serë, Thangon. _You, too, Meryl; stay here with him.” 

The Bowman hauled his Elf to his feet and had an arm around his waist as they climbed the Grand Staircase and went into their chambers. After they kicked off their boots, they sat up against the headboard, as Bard poured him a tall glass of Dorwinian.

“Drink up, you.”

“Only if you will join me.”

Bard poured a smaller glass for himself, and they sipped in silence for a few moments. 

“This makes me think of the night of our first kiss; do you remember? 2 Bard mused. “I was upset, and you sat me down on your bed and took off my boots.” He gave Thranduil a sidelong glance, “then you plied me with strong wine and took advantage of me.”

“I did not!” Thranduil’s jaw dropped.

“You did.” He fluttered his eyelashes and said in a high voice, “I was but a helpless victim to your charms; putty in your hands.”

The Elf’s left eyebrow quirked. “As I recall, it was _you_ who kissed _me.”_

“Perhaps you put me under a spell,” Bard whispered as he leaned closer, “because that kiss was _magical.”_

“There is only one first kiss, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil’s lips brushed lightly against his with a smile. “I know what you are doing.”

“Is it working?”

“I think so.”

“Good,” Bard took the Elf’s cup, set it on the side table, grabbed the back of his neck and captured his mouth in a hard kiss that didn’t let up until they were both on fire. “Care for a Second Breakfast?”

Within minutes they shed their clothes, and amid kisses, playful nips and a lot of moaning, Thranduil hovered over him. 

“Our first time together was just as wonderful as our first kiss.” His voice was low, husky. “Do you know how often I think of our wedding night, _Meleth nîn?”_

“Show me,” Bard panted as the Elf’s slick fingers stroked his insides, teasing him into a frenzy. “You b-bastard!” he threw his head back with a groan.

“Hmmm… I do not recall you calling me _that _on our Wedding night,” the Elf’s eyes narrowed. “Shall I stop?”

“Don’t y-you dare!” Another moan escaped him. “This is w-what I get for trying to m-make you feel better? You torture me l-like this?”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Thranduil’s smile turned evil. “How can I make it up to you?”

“You! I need you!”

The Elvenking took himself in hand and entered him in one stroke, and they both cried out. All teasing was forgotten when his hips began to move, and they lost themselves in each other. 

“I love how you feel,” Thranduil said bit down on Bard’s collarbone. “I can never get enough of you.”

Bard replied by grabbing the Elf’s nipples and squeezed them. Thranduil’s hips to lost their rhythm for a moment, before thrusting even harder.

When they reached the edge and fell together, Thranduil clung to him and called his name, over and over, as the colors grew brighter than the stars. 

“Oh, gods,” Bard swallowed, his voice hoarse. “I don’t think I can move for the rest of the day.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Thranduil had his arms around him, and kissed his hair.

“I just hope no one needs me before my legs stop shaking.” Bard propped up on one elbow and rested his chin in his hand. “Feel any better?”

The Elf heaved a heavy sigh. “A little. I just hate how fast the children are growing up. I know Tilda was taller when I came home last month, and I missed it.”

“She didn’t grow at all when she was sick, remember? Now, as soon as Hilda has her set up with clothes and shoes, her ankles are showing under her dresses and she’s complaining that her boots pinch.”

“I know…” 

“She’s going to be ten years old at the end of this month, and as she said, she 'wants to be told stuff,' now.” Bard nuzzled his arm. “We can’t stop time, as much as we want to.”

“She is starting to outgrow her stuffed toys," Thranduil pouted. "She rarely takes Charlotte out of the Castle, anymore.” 

“That’s only because she’s too busy running around Dale with Tauriel, or hanging upside down on the climbing bars at the Park. The stones in the Courtyard are full of chalk drawings; the only time they’re clean is when it rains, and as soon as things dry up, she and Feren’s girls are at it again.”

“I know it is selfish,” the Elf sighed. “I am happy she is healthy, really I am, Bard. But sometimes I miss the days when I carried her everywhere. I miss those tiny arms around my neck, or her head on my shoulder when she falls asleep.”

“Aww…” Bard stroked his arm. “I miss that, too. I feel like it was only yesterday when Sigrid and Bain were that small. The first time I realized Bain and I were eye-level, I had to go sit down!”

“Sigrid has not changed as much as the younger ones,” Thranduil observed. “But her face has matured, has it not? She is truly a lovely girl.”

“A lovely _woman,”_ Bard corrected, sadly. “Although if you ask me when _that _happened, I couldn’t begin to tell you. The other day, I saw her reading a book and couldn’t get over how stunning she was. I swear, my heart stopped when it hit me that she’s old enough to have suitors, now.”

“She is not!” Thranduil’s eyes bulged. “Sigrid is much too young!”

“Oh, I didn’t say I liked it, love. Praise Ulmo, she’s focused on her studies, but that won’t be forever.”

“But what if someone wants to pursue her?”

“I’d feel sorry for him.” Bard chuckled. “The guards are genuinely fond of the kids; if a boy was flirting with Sigrid, we’d know about it.”

“It is good to be the King,” the Elf’s eyes twinkled. “I truly pity the man who asks for her hand.”

“Feren says the same thing about his girls.” Bard laughed. “He said any boy tries to kiss Alis or Dafina would find the entire Army on his doorstep,” he jabbed the Elf in the ribs. “I know what that’s like. You think I wasn’t scared shitless when you just showed up in Dale that first morning?”

“It is nice to know that works,” Thranduil smirked, then said, “Bain will be taller than you, I think.”

“Better looking, too.”

“Do not say that! I think you are beautiful.”

“Well, I hope he takes after Mattie’s father, with a nice, full beard. Thank the stars he has my hair.”

“Why do you say this?”

“My father-in-law was bald on top. My Da used to tease him and say he shaved it off and glued it to his face.”

“What did he say to that?”

“Oh, Bain – my Bain was named after him, you know – said he was so handsome, he had to cover his face so Da wouldn’t get jealous.”

Thranduil snickered. “I would have enjoyed knowing them.”

“I think so, too. One of the reasons why the Master hated me so much was that I stole Mattie from him. Did I ever tell you that story?”

“Some of it. Mattie’s Uncle arranged the match, as I recall.”

“Yep. But did I tell you what happened when her Da found out about it?”

“No,” Thranduil rolled over to face him with an interested smile.

“Bain punched Uncle Marvin in the jaw and knocked out two of his teeth.” 3

“Good for him!” the Elf laughed. “We must remember that when young men line up to call on our daughters.”

“That goes for _all_ of our daughters. I don’t care how old she is, Tauriel’s not going to end up with just anyone!” 

“I agree.” Thranduil flopped back against the pillows, with a sigh. “Thank you for helping me be a father, again.”

“It’s been wonderful to watch you enjoy them, love.” Bard reached over and caressed his face. “I know you’re upset about Tilda, but just because she is pulling away a bit, doesn’t mean she stopped loving you. She just wants to explore different things about life.”

“There will come a day when she will not want me to hug her at all,” Thranduil’s face fell.

“That’s not true. She’s _Ada’s_ girl, and will always need you. The thing is, try to stop seeing her as your baby, and meet her where she is at.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, since she’s been healthy, she’s turned into quite the tomboy, yeah? She’s running around in leggings as often as she’s wearing dresses, these days. Do you remember what I told you in June, just before you got the message about Tur? Tilda’s serious about learning how to wield a sword; who better to teach her than the mighty Elvenking himself?”

“I had forgotten about that,” Thranduil sat up.

“I did, too, until just before you came home. Tauriel offered to get her started, but she wants _Ada_. Why do you think she sat with us when you went up against Glorfindel? She used to hate that stuff, remember? But she wanted to watch _you.”_

“Really?” a slow grin spread across the Elf’s face. 

“And that’s not all. Every summer, don’t you take Bain and his friends camping? Tilda might not be up for a week in a tent, but what’s to stop you from taking her out to the woods, and showing her how to track?”

“She would like that?”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask. She needs you to see her as she is, and if you encourage her to grow, she’ll always look to you for guidance. If you refuse to see her as anything but your baby girl, Tilda might drift away, and never come back.”

Thranduil lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. “It might not be so bad…”

“Course not,” Bard leaned over and kissed his cheek. “The children are on a journey, love, even the older ones; we need to be just as excited for them as they are for themselves.”

“One day they all will leave us, though.”

“Probably. But they’ll come back, and Valar willing, with a boatload of grandchildren.”

Thranduil turned toward him with an eager grin. “More babies to spoil...”

“Exactly,” Bard winked.

****************

**City of Dale, 26th of September 2944 T.A.**

“I am afraid this will be our last lesson, Lieutenant.”

Daeron knew it was coming, and his heart was heavy. “I understand; you must cross the Misty Mountains soon, before the pass closes for the winter.”

“True. As much as I would like to, we cannot stay. Mithrandir and I need to meet with Celeborn and Galadriel on a matter of importance, then he needs to find Radagast and inform him of the situation with your wife. Glorfindel has also been patient, but he is anxious to get back to Rivendell. He does not like to be apart from Erestor for long periods of time, and while Rivendell is adequately protected for now, his very presence often frightens off enemies.”

Elrond’s mouth widened into a pleased smile. “But there is little need for me to linger. You have been an excellent pupil, but I have nothing more to teach you, _Mellon_.”

“That cannot be true!” he protested. “I feel like I have only scratched the surface of the things you have shown me; surely there is more I need to work on!”

“Oh, I did not say you should discontinue your work. You have an excellent grasp of the fundamentals; all you need now is to practice and refine your skills. You have been keeping up with your notes, I hope?”

“Of course. I try to write every night: what patients I have seen and their treatment, the basics of what you and I have been doing…” he met Elrond’s blue eyes. “I hope that is all right? I can destroy them, if you like.”

“You may keep them, as long as they are kept safe. Now, have you forgotten the other assignment I gave you?”

“You mean the book you wish me to write? There has been no time to think of it, My Lord.”

“I agree, there have been more important matters at hand, but when things calm down, you need to work on this. I would like to see a copy on my desk within the next two years. This book,” Elrond leaned back in his chair and rested his ankle on his other knee, “will be increasingly important in the decades to come, as the Free Peoples begin to work together. We Elves know all there is, when it comes to treating our own people, but there is a scarcity of knowledge in the treatment of men and their diseases. My books, to use your phrase, ‘only scratch the surface.’” He waved his hand dismissively. “Too often what is useful to an Elf could be poisonous to a Child of Man, and in the other cases, dosage is completely different; do you see the urgency?”

Daeron ran his hand over his jaw. “My Lord, writing for my own benefit is one thing, but I have no idea how to arrange things in a manner which others can make sense of! I’m not a terribly organized person, and rely on my wife’s skills to keep up with the mechanics of day-to-day life.”

“I suggest you find a ghost-writer, someone who knows a bit of the subject matter, but is distant enough to ensure clarity in your writing.”

“But would not another Healer be better?”

“No; the opposite in fact. We want a book that any Elf can pick up and understand, and you are too close to the subject matter to have any perspective.” Elrond tilted his head. “Your friend Evranin came here with us, to help establish a library for Dale. Is she not the sister of another Healer in Lothlórien?”

“Evvy is going through the Palace libraries and will be presenting King Bard with a list of books for his approval within the next couple of months.” 

“I can think of no other candidate who would be better, _Mellon_. She knows how good books are written, and can arrange the information for easy reference. We will be stopping in the Woodland Realm before Mithrandir and I part ways, so I will speak to her myself about it.” Elrond hesitated. “You look concerned. Do you not agree she would do an excellent job?”

“Oh, I do, My Lord! She is a perfect choice; it is just that there is a personal situation that might complicate things.”

“Ah,” the Elf-Lord nodded. “Turamarth’s attack. Tell me, how is he doing now” 4

“He is beginning to have some good days, and we often ride out into the woods and practice our skills. He is still physically weakened, but his stamina improves.”

“I have not seen him out and about in the City. Is this typical of him?”

Daeron shook his head. “No, sadly. He was always gregarious and outgoing before. Now he… does not like to be among groups of people.”

“How is he with you and your family?”

“In the safety of our home, his true self is beginning to emerge, again. My son is a great comfort to him, and Rhian has been able to help him in ways I cannot. I am hoping that with time and effort, this will pass.”

“If he does well at home, there is no reason to think he will not continue to improve.” Elrond nodded. “Continue to take him out for short periods, then slowly increase the time, as you take him different places.” Elrond hesitated, then said, “I should tell you that I have known the nature of Turamarth’s attack from the beginning, only because my sons and I are familiar with those types of injuries to the _Fëa_.”

Daeron sighed. “I guessed as much, but thank you for not asking me about it. Even I do not know all the details; he recently revealed all to my wife, though.”

“And this does not bother you?”

“I would never ask Rhian; that is Tur’s secret to tell, and we both know it.” He sighed, and his gaze traveled to his lap. 

“Daeron?” Elrond’s brows lifted. 

“I am afraid Rhian did not take the news of her Immortality well.” 5

“Are things all right between you?” 

Daeron swallowed, and remained silent, as he fumbled with his fingers.

“It is not an easy adjustment to make, I am sure,” the Elf-Lord’s eyes held concern. “What does she say about it?”

“She refuses to discuss it. Turamarth helped calm her down that first day, but since then, she resists any attempts I make to talk to her.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Are you concerned that she turns to Tur, rather than you?”

“Oh, no!” Daeron quickly met his eyes. “I am not concerned about that at all! They are like siblings, and are good for each other. I just wish…”

“Perhaps she turns to your cousin because he is not as important to her.”

“But she should not be afraid to come to _me! _I am her husband!”

“Exactly. She could be afraid of things changing between you.” He raised his eyebrow and studied Daeron. “Do you not fear the same thing?”

“Very much, so.” He admitted with a hard swallow. “When you and Mithrandir told us of the prophecy, I felt relieved. I have loved Rhian for much longer than she even knows, and for me, it was an answer to questions I have been asking since Sellwen died.”

“Rhian does not share your feelings, I take it?”

“She does not grasp the enormity of it, I think. To her, Sellwen is nothing more than a name, an abstract idea.”

“That is not surprising,” Elrond agreed. “Let us consider Princess Tilda. Her mother died at her birth, yes? She has no memory of Bard’s wife, so there was no reason for her to mourn. Even when she looks at the painting of Matilda, she only sees an echo of what might have been.”

“That is a good analogy. I never expected Rhian to think any different and I am fine with that, but this has stirred up a great deal for me.”

“How?”

“In the weeks before Sellwen’s death, I had fantasies of her growing up and falling in love with me. I had no qualms considering my fate if I married her, back then, which would mean I would lose everything in order to be with her. But of course, that never happened, and I learned to move on.

“When I met Rhian, I was confused at my feelings! It was before the blessing of Eärendil and long before Mithrandir came to tell the Kings what it all meant. Yet, I loved her, and once again, I was willing to give up my Immortal life, and gifts that shaped me, to be with her.”

Elrond leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “And, now that you know you will not lose any of it?”

Daeron blinked rapidly, and stared off into space. “How could I be anything but happy? Yet at the same time, how do I share my joy with a wife who feels robbed?”

“I am sorry, _Mellon_,” Elrond sighed. “I had hoped that once she calmed down, she might be open to all this.”

“That is just the trouble; she is not open at all! She either behaves as if our meeting that day never took place, or, if I bring up the subject, she finds an excuse to leave the room.”

“She is afraid.” Elrond reminded him.

“I think part of her… blames me, somehow. Or at least she sees me differently.”

“Surely not!” The Elf-Lord’s eyes widened. “You had nothing to do with this. Mithrandir and I had nothing to do with this; we were merely messengers from the Valar!”

“I know. I do not think she is even aware of it, but she hangs on to Daeron for dear life, and when I hold him, Rhian looks at me as if… We have only been married a few months, but much of that has been full of turmoil: Tur’s arrest in Lothlórien, then I left for two months, and when we came back, Tur needed our help.”

Elrond ran his hand over his mouth and considered for a moment. “At the risk of being indelicate, _Mellon_, when was the last time you two made love?”

“We have not. She refuses my advances, saying she is tired, or goes to bed early and pretends to be asleep when I come in. She is shutting herself off, and the harder I try to break down those walls, the more she pushes me away! Rhian has been through a great deal, and in some ways, it reminds me of the state she was in after she gave birth at the Palace. She has withdrawn into herself.”

“What happened after your son was born?”

“It goes back further than that, My Lord. Rhian’s first husband, Garth, was physically and sexually abusive. It was not until after Darryn was born that we realized the extent of her physical injuries, which were quickly mended. But the emotional damage was considerable.”

“What did you do for her then?”

“Lord Thranduil placed her in rooms where it was quiet, and my Aunt Indis lived with her, until she was physically stronger.”

“Indis is one of the best Elven Counselors I know.”

“She gave supportive care, but Hannah was the one who served in that capacity.”

“Hannah? The midwife? Is she not your mother-in-law?”

“Yes, but she was not married to Ben at the time. As a child of Man, Hannah was more familiar with the situation my wife had been forced to endure, and this helped Rhian trust her.”

“I see,” Elrond grasped his chin, deep in thought. “And yet Rhian overcame all of that; I saw little of the damage you describe when I met her, though I am sure the scars will always be there.”

“Should I go see Hannah, and tell her what is going on?”

“I would wait. If Rhian went to her on her own, she would be more open to receiving help, otherwise she might feel like you are setting her up.” Elrond advised. “But should this go on for several months, then I do not see where you have a choice.”

“That is what I shall do, then,” the Lieutenant sighed sadly. “I was hoping we had both seen the last of those days.”

“Ah, well; too often these things are out of our hands.” Elrond leaned forward and grasped his shoulder. “Give it some time, _Mellon nîn_. Give her the space she needs, and see what happens.”

“I will,” Daeron swallowed. “What if it is not enough?” 

***************

**Lothlórien, 28th of September 2944 T.A.**

“_Ada!” _ Orlin rushed into Ohtar’s office in the back of Galadriel’s vast library.

_“Shhh!_ How many times have I told you to keep your voice down!” his father scowled. “Now, why are you making so much noise this time?”

“Look!” Orlin grinned as he waved the sealed envelope in the air. “A letter from Evvy!”

“Wonderful! Shut the door, and read it to me.”

Orlin did so, then took a seat beside his father’s desk and broke the seal: 

> _6th of September 2944 T.A._
> 
> _Dear Ada and Orlin,_
> 
> _Greetings from the Halls of the Woodland Realm! _
> 
> _Oh, Ada, what a challenge I have been given! At first, when I arrived, I was overwhelmed and unhappy, but Airen met me and not only has she opened up her arms, but she and Elion have opened up their home as well! I am now staying in their spare room, and I feel much better._
> 
> _There was a commotion when we first entered the Palace, but I soon learned that Galion, Thranduil’s Aide has gotten married to – and you will not believe it, but it is true – our friend, Rôgon, the blacksmith! They wed in secret, but when everyone found out, the King’s Council gave Galion a respite from his duties and they did not come out of his apartment once!_
> 
> _To say King Thranduil was surprised is an understatement, but he seemed happy when he and Prince Legolas went to Dale the next day. 6_
> 
> _Rôgon is married! Can you believe it! _
> 
> _Two weeks ago, we all went to Dale to attend their Wedding Feast. They had a small, private ceremony on the 26th of August in the Castle Gardens. Cwën, Airen and I were asked to stand with the Elves of Rivendell, to support Rôg, while the Royal Family stood for Galion. It was simple but oh, so lovely. The Lady sent gold rings, and Princess Tilda wore the sweetest crown of flowers from our home. Rôgon cried throughout the entire ceremony, and Galion just smiled up at him. _
> 
> _The Feast was a lively celebration, just like Daeron’s and Rhian’s wedding! I did get to speak to them briefly at the Feast, and they seemed very happy. Oh, her little boy is so cute! He has grown since I had seen him last, and Rhian tells me he is learning a new word every day. _
> 
> _Orlin, I looked for Turamarth. I know you said not to, and you keep telling me nothing is my fault, but I could not help it. I was so hoping to see him, just to see if he looked better, but Daeron said he was still staying with them, and that Tur cannot cope with large crowds at the moment. I promised you I would not ask what happened to him, but it was hard not to feel guilty._
> 
> _Still, we had a pleasant two days in Dale, and soon it was time to get back to work! _
> 
> _I have been here a few weeks, now, and my life has fallen into a routine: _
> 
> _\--In the mornings, I eat breakfast with Airen and her husband, then I am off to work! Gwindor, the Archivist, works in the same capacity for Lord Thranduil that you do for the Lord and Lady, Ada. He is kind and helped me feel at ease right away. When I arrived, he told me our first task was to help him with a full inventory. He had been holding off until I arrived, as it would help me determine what could be useful with the people of Dale. _
> 
> _He also took me to the lower caves to meet with the Printer’s Guild. Saeros is the Assistant assigned to work with me to get the new books printed. He seems a bit shy, like me, but I am hoping that will change as we begin to work together. _
> 
> _\--I usually have my midday meal at my desk, then after my day is done, I return to the Apartment. If Airen and Elion are still on duty, I eat alone, curled up with a book. _
> 
> _Airen pesters me to go to the Dining Hall when they cannot be there in the evenings, but just the idea of going alone among all those strangers give me butterflies in my stomach! Maybe when I have been here a few months, I might feel brave, but for now, I need the solitude to relax and get used to my new life._
> 
> _That is not to say that Airen is my only friend here. The second day after my arrival, who should come knocking at my door but Idril and Indis, Daeron’s mother and aunt! I had met them at his wedding, of course, and these wonderful _ _Ellyth have taken me under their wing. In our spare time, they have shown me all over the Palace, and told me stories about Daeron and Tur and all the trouble they would cause. Idril showed me the ceiling in the Palace Kitchens, and told me the story of when Daeron accidentally set it on fire. There are still scorch marks, but I could even see places where they had tried to clean it off!_
> 
> _I can tell they worry for Tur, as well, Orlin. Indis’s eyes get so sad when she speaks of him, but Idril is right there to remind her how strong Tur is and not to give up hope. Adamar and Ómar are also wonderful to me, I feel like I have two sets of Aunts and Uncles now!_
> 
> _I try to picture you two living in Orlin’s house (I am glad you moved out of our childhood home – it is too big for one Ellon, and full of memories that would only keep you in the past.) I think about _ _Naneth, and how peaceful she seemed when we said goodbye. I am grateful for her gold ring. Most of the time, I wear it on a chain, but on days when I am particularly homesick, I put in on my hand, so I can see it and feel closer to all of you, or picture _ _Naneth on the ship, when she arrives on the White Shores._
> 
> _I still have days when I want to cry from homesickness, yet at the same time, I am excited for this new beginning. Your Little Bird needs to mend her own wings, and learn to fly, but never doubt for a moment that my heart remains with my dear, dear Ada and my older brother._
> 
> _Write to me soon and tell me what is going on at home!_
> 
> _With all my love, _
> 
> _Your Aewpin_

Orlin folded the paper with a sigh, and handed it to his father. “I can finally admit how worried I was for her, but she seems fine.”

“I am still worried, but I suppose that will always be the case,” Ohtar took the letter and placed it in the pocket of his tunic, over his heart. “I hope she did not go to be closer to Turamarth. She could be badly hurt.”

“I honestly do not think so,” Orlin reassured him. “It is not realistic to say Tur had nothing to do with it, but I talked with her about it the night before they left. Evvy was adamant that she is doing this for _herself._ She has feelings for Tur, yes; he helped her to see herself in a different light, _Ada_.”

“How so?”

“Most of her life, Evvy’s first instinct was to withdraw. She’s spent most of her years with her head tucked under her wing, as she tried to survive our mother’s constant attempts to ‘fix’ her. Who can learn and grow like that?”

Ohtar covered his eyes. “It was my fault; I allowed that to go on too long.”

“I will not lie to you and say otherwise, _Ada_, but I also believe we were too immersed in all of it to see clearly. I know you are familiar with those spyglasses Men use, to see at great distances?”

“We have one in our collection that was found after the Disaster of Gladden Fields. It is said that Isildur himself used it.”

“Well, suppose you were given one with a defective lens, but you did not know it? Every image you see with it would be skewed, but until you have a chance to look through a different spyglass, there is no way to tell, is there?”

“I suppose not,” Ohtar swallowed. “I always hoped it would get better; if I had only loved her more, if I could come up with the right thing to say or do…” he shook his head. “But that is not anything we can change, is it?”

“No, _Ada_, it is not.” “But in meeting Turamarth, she has been given new spyglass, but it is up to her to learn to use it. Whether or not anything happens between them, we should be grateful for that.” Orlin put his hand on his father’s arm and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Let us look forward, not back, yes?”

Ohtar covered his son’s hand with his. “New beginnings, _Ion nîn_.”

* * *

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Aewpin_ – “Little Bird,” Evranin’s nickname.

_Meleth nîn_ – My love.

_Serë,Thangon _– (Q.) Stay, Thangon.

**NOTES:**

[1] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 20: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/34855688>

[2] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 7: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24626007>

[3] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 6: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24520668>

[4] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 25: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/44623087>

[5] _Legolas_, _Ion nîn_, Ch. 42: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/48543257>

[6] _Legolas_, _Ion nîn_, Ch. 38: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/47219776>


	2. ***Character List for Broken Wings***

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Alphabetical order. I've updated it and will be adding names as the story unfolds.

*****Character List for Broken Wings*****

**Adamar** – Elf. Daeron’s father; Captain of the Gates; responsible for safety of the Palace and surrounding walls. Husband of Idril. Who is in in charge of the Palace Kitchens and chef for the Royal Family.

**Adila** \- the Blacksmith's wife, who was born in Harad, and helping Indis look after the refugees rescued from a Pleasure House. Husband Bron was killed in attack on Dale in May 2943 T.A. Now owns the Coffee Café, as a gift from the King of Harad. Has a daughter Tamir age 12, and son named Raif, age 10.

**Aegis** – Daeron’s grey horse. His name means “Protection.”

**Airen **\- Female Elf from Lothlorien, who helped escort Daeron and his unit to spend the year in the Golden Wood. Married to Captain Elion, Guardian of the Woodland Realm. She and her husband work at the Palace in Adamar’s unit.

**Alagos** – “Windstorm,” Legolas’s white horse with dark legs, mane and tail. (lit. “Storm of Wind).

**Alis **– Orphan from Dale; Adopted by Feren and Glélindë at the age of five.

**Almarë** \- Infant daughter of Ermon and Elénaril, along with sister, Calapîa, and brother, Nórimo. (Triplets, born 2nd of September T.A. 2943)

**Alun** – father of Rhys, son of Ina, nephew of the late Iola. Widower. Used to work the accounts for the Master of Laketown.

**Amaren** \- One of the Galadhrim visiting the North for a year. Archer.

**Anna** – Wife of Daffyd, who runs the Livery. Friend of Ellyn, widow of Owen.

**Arwen **– Daughter of Elrond and Celebrian. Sister to twins Elladan and Elrohir. Lives in Lothlórien with her grandparents.

**Bain **– Crown Prince of Dale. Age: 16 (Born 2928, T.A.). Son of Bard, King of Dale, and the late Matilda (Mattie) of Laketown. Brother to Sigrid and Tilda; Stepbrother to Legolas and Tauriel.

**Bard **– King of Dale; archer, former Bargeman. Age: 42 (Born 2902 Third Age); son of Brand and Sigrid of Laketown. Husband of King Thranduil. Father of Sigrid, Bain and Tilda. Stepfather to Legolas and Tauriel. Former husband of the late Mattie of Laketown. Gained Immortality upon marriage to King Thranduil.

**Ben **\- See "Old Ben"

**Beorn** – Skin Changer; friend of Gandalf and Radagast. Lives in Southern Mirkwood.

**Beratín** – Chestnut gelding owned by Rhys of Dale. 

**Beriel - **"Protector." Bowen's brindled dog of the same breed as Thangon. She was a gift to Bowen from King Thranduil. She and Thangon had eight puppies in June 2942 T.A.

**Bert **– Man of Rohan, forced to work for Jarod (“The Boss”) and his syndicate. Helped Bard and Thranduil find the hostages when Dale was attacked in May 2943 T.A. Went to Gondor with Gandalf to save more victims, and decided to stay.

**Bilbo** – Hobbit. One of the Original Company. Had feelings for Thorin.

**Blossom** – Dapple grey palfrey owned by Princess Tilda. A small mare to suit her size; she couldn’t pronounce her Elven name, so Falarion, Horse Master of the Woodland Realm, allowed her to change her name.

**Bofur** – Dwarf. One of the Original Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Friend of Princess Tilda and Tauriel.

**Bowen** – Son of Ellyn and the late Owen of Dale. Eleven years old. Older brother of Maddox and baby Owena. Very protective of his family – looks after him since their Da died.

**Bregolas **– Stallion belonging to Prince Bain. Black with a star on his forehead and three white socks. Was killed while protecting his master during the attack in Dale May 2043 T.A.

**Bron **\- Blacksmith. Husband of Adila and father to their boy and girl. Killed by bandits in May 2943 T.A., when their children were held hostage with the Prince and Princesses of Dale.

**Bronwyn** – Head of Schools in Dale.

**Calapîa** \- Infant daughter of Ermon and Elénaril, along with sister, Almarë, and brother, Nórimo (Triplets, born 2nd of September T.A. 2943).

**Caragos** \- A foal, born June 2945 T.A., out of Bowen's mare, **Vórima**, and King Bard's stallion, **Fînlossen**.

**Catrina** – Wife of Roderic. Helps husband run the Long Lake Tavern.

**Celeborn** – Lord of Lothlórien; rules with his wife Galadriel. Age: 6724 (Born in Doriath F.A. 251). Cousin of Oropher and Thranduil. Father of Celebrian and grandfather to Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen.

**Cook** – Real name: Lewis of Dale. In charge of kitchens in Bard’s Castle as well as the Great Hall. Now lives in Bard and Thranduil’s old room behind the Hall. Very strict with the cooking staff, but sometimes lets Tilda go in to make things for her fathers. Good friends with Greta, Housekeeper of the Castle (some say they’re courting).

**Cwën** \- One of the Galadhrim visiting the North as part of an exchange in 2942-2943 T.A., but stayed, as she was betrothed to Lieutenant Ivran.

**Daeron** – Elf. Guardian of Woodland Realm and Healer. Age: 1995 (Born in Woodland Realm, 949 Third Age). Son of Captain Adamar (Keeper of the Gates) and Idril, who runs the kitchens in the Woodland Realm. First cousin and best friends with Turamarth, (their mothers are identical twins). Husband of Rhian of Dale and stepfather to Darryn. Was given special gifts of Healing by the Valar; can “connect” with the _Fëas_ of the unborn. Recent protégé of Elrond; learning how to fight the Black Breath.

**Daffyd **– Runs the Livery in new Dale. Friend of the late Owen and Ellyn. Husband of Anna, father of Powell. Adoptive father to Bowen, Maddox and Owena, after their parents’ death.

**Dafina** – Three-year-old orphan from Dale; Adopted by Feren and Glélindë.

**Dáin** – King Under the Mountain.

**Darla** \- Woman from Dale, and Hannah’s daughter-in-law. Married to Jon, Hannah’s son. Mother of two: a boy and a girl.

**Darryn** – Rhian’s baby boy, named after Daeron, who became her friend.

**Dilna** – Dwarf. King Dáin’s wife - Queen Under the Mountain.

**Doran – **“Oak.” A giant tree outside of Dale; friend and confidant of Daeron.

**Dwalin** – Dwarf. Trained Kili and Fili. Becomes a friend to Feren. Will help train Bain.

**Egon** \- Son of Tom the Potter, new Constable of Dale

**Eiliënt** – Female Silvan Elf. Archer in Army of the Woodland Realm. Went to Rivendell in 2944-2945 T.A. for Military Exchange.

**Elénaril **– Elven Healer; wife of Ermon, the Chief Healer of the Woodland Realm. Mother of triplets: daughters Calapîa, Almarë and son Nórimo. Age: 2199 (Born in 745 T.A.). 

**Elion** \- Guardian of the Woodland Realm, served in Lothlórien as Daeron's 2nd-in-Command 2942-2943 T.A. Fell in love with Airen, Warden of Lothlorien and engaged to be married in T.A. 2944

**Elladan** – Son of Elrond. Identical Twin brother of Elrohir. Good friends with Legolas, Daeron and Turamarth. Likes to play practical jokes. Staying in the North for Military Exchange in 2944-2945 T.A

**Ellyn** – Widow of Owen of Dale. Mother of Bowen, Maddox and Owena. Was diagnosed with a serious illness in July 2942 T.A. and died, leaving her children to be adopted by Daffyd and Anna.

**Elrohir **\- Son of Elrond. Identical Twin brother of Elladan. Good friends with Legolas, Daeron and Turamarth. Likes to play practical jokes. Staying in the North for Military Exchange in 2944-2945 T.A

**Elrond Peredhel** – Lord of Imladris. Heir to Gil-Galad, though he rejected the title. Age: 6443 (Born F.A. 532) Husband of Celebrian, who now lives in Valinor. Father to Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen. Helped save Galadriel when she was attacked in June 2944 T.A. Used his Ring of Power, along with Galadriel and Mithrandir to defeat the Blue Wizard Pallando, a now-servant of Sauron, when he attacked Lothlórien.

**Emëldir** \- Head of Thranduil's Council in the Woodland Realm. Wife of Silmon, Head of the Agricultural Guild.

**Enid **\- Widow of Dale; 61 years of age. Mother-in-Law to the Baker in Dale. Shared a tent with Rhian and Gladys, in the refugee camp after the Battle.

**Erestor** – Archivist and Counselor to Lord Elrond of Rivendell. Husband of Glorfindel.

**Eriol** – Lothlórien Elf. One Galadhrim who worked in the North for a year. Warrior.

**Ermon** \- Chief Healer of the Woodland Realm. Age 5959 (Born 226, S.A.). Husband of Elénaril. Grew grew up with Galion and Oropher. Was present at Thranduil’s birth. Father of triplets: daughters Calapîa, Almarë and son Nórimo, born September 2943 T.A.

**Esta** \- Black and white sheep dog. Given to Bard's children as a gift over the Long Winter. Killed in the attack on the Royal Family of Dale in May 2943 T.A.

**Estel **– Child of the Dúnedain and Elrond’s foster-son. True name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor; his true identity is hidden, even from him. He was brought to Rivendell at his father’s death, when he was two years old, and Halbarad and the sons of Elrond created a scene to make Sauron think he was dead.

**Ethan** – Oldest son of Seren and Llewelyn. Brother to Liam and Liliwen.

**Evan **\- Assistant to Alun, Treasurer of Dale. Moved here from the East Bight to seek his fortune. Age 31. Engaged to Eryn, Tilda’s schoolteacher. Former suitor of Rhian, but they remain friends.

**Evranin **“Evvy” – Lothlórien Elf. Daughter of Óhtar and Vériel. Currently working to set up a library in Dale and help Daeron write his book. Lives at the Palace, and is attracted to Turamarth.

**Falarion** \- Farrier and Steward of the Royal Stables in the Woodland Realm. Taught all the children of Bard to ride during the Long Winter.

**Farien **– Tauriel’s female cat.

**Fengel** – King of Rohan. Father of Thengel, who lives in Gondor with his mother to escape Fengel’s tyranny.

**Feren** – Silvan Elf. Commander of all branches of the Elven military in the Woodland Realm. Husband of Glélindë (Married 1955 T.A. – 987 years). Adoptive father of Alis and Dafina. Currently expecting a child in August 2945 T.A. Currently living in Dale with wife and children. Best friend of King Thranduil since childhood. Age: 3847 (Born in Woodland Realm, 2538, Second Age). 

**Fînlossen **\- “Snowy Mane.” Thranduil's favorite white stallion that he gifted to Bard.

**Floyd **– Old Ben’s big orange male cat.

**Galadriel** – Ancient Noldor Elf. Daughter of Finarfin, King of the Noldor in Valinor. Age: 8372 (Born 1362 Years of the Trees). Rules Lothlórien with husband Celeborn. Mother of Celebrian. Most powerful Elf in Middle Earth; former pupil of Queen Melian, a Maia. Born in the Years of the Trees in Valinor. Cousin of Thranduil through her marriage to Celeborn. Grandmother to Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen. Special friend and Pen Pal to Princess Tilda.

**Galion** – Elf. Thranduil’s Chief Aide and Steward. Childhood friend and Aide to King Oropher. Age 5857 (Born in Doriath, 528, S.A.). Father-figure to Legolas and Tauriel, best friend to Hilda and Percy.

**Gandalf/Mithrandir **– Wizard/Maia. Came to Middle Earth abt. 1000 T.A. with Glorfindel. Plays matchmaker in his spare time, when he’s not busy trying to save the Free People of Middle Earth. Helped Bard and Thranduil get together, as well as Galion and Rôgon, and several Marshalls of Rohan.

**Garon** the Founder – First King of Dale. Established his Kingdom in the year 2432 T.A.

**Garth** – Rhian’s late husband; died when Smaug attacked Laketown. Was a drunkard and abusive.

**Gerion** \- One of the Galadhrim visiting the North for the year. 2942-2943 T.A. Warrior and 2nd in Command of Rúmil’s unit.

**Gilfanon **\- Master Healer of Lothlórien. Supervises Orlin and Penlod, Healers of the Golden Wood.

**Girion** – 15th King of Dale, killed by Smaug in the year 2770 T.A.

**Gildor **\- Woodland Elf, named after distant Uncle Gildor Inglorion from Rivendell. Son of Gwindor, Chief Archivist at the Palace, and husband of Nielthi. Adoptive parents of Dylan and Rowena, two orphans from Dale.

**Gladys** \- widow of Dale, about 60 years old. Friend of Enid; works as a seamstress with Glélindë. Shared a tent with Rhian and Enid after the Battle.

**Glélindë** – Elf. Commander Feren’s wife; adoptive mother of Alis and Dafina. Currently expecting a child in August 2945 T.A. Works as a Seamstress in Dale.

**Glorfindel** – Elven Warrior from the First Age, who died killing a Balrog. Came back to Middle Earth with the Istari, as an emissary of the Valar in 1000 T.A. One of the mightiest warriors in Middle Earth. Devoted husband of Erestor.

**Greta** \- Head Housekeeper at the Castle in Dale. Good friend to Cook; possibly they are courting.

**Gruffudd **– Grandfather of Alis and Dafina. Lives with Feren and Glélindë, who adopted the girls. Missing one leg below the knee from BOTFA.

**Gwindor** \- Chief Archivist for the Woodland Realm. Evranin's boss since August 2944 T.A. Works out of the Main Library in the Royal Wing, but also takes care of the other one at the West end of the Palace. Father of Gildor; adoptive grandfather to Dylan and Rowena, two orphans from Dale.

**Haldir** \- Marchwarden of Lothlórien and Daeron's commanding officer during the soldier exchange. Eldest son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi.

**Hannah** – Midwife from Dale. Age: 56 (Born in Laketown, 2888 T.A.). Wife of Old Ben, and stepmother to Rhian and grandmother to Darryn. Widow of Martyn, with three grown children, including Jon, who lives in Dale with wife Darla and two children.

**Harry** \- "The Boss's" right-hand man and the head of Security for his operation. Helped kidnap the princesses of Dale and several others in May 2943 T.A.

**Hilda** –Seneschal of Dale. Age: 58 (Born in Laketown, 2886, Third Age). Wife of Percy, Steward of Dale. (Married 2905 T.A. – 39 years). Good friend of the late Brand of Laketown and devoted to Bard, King of Dale. Good friend of the late Mattie of Laketown, and mother figure to the Bard’s children. In charge of the Castle and welfare of Dale’s widows, and orphans.

**Idril** – Elf. Mother of Daeron; wife of Captain Adamar. In charge of the kitchens at Thranduil’s Palace; personal chef to the Royal Family, when in residence.

**Ina** – mother of Alun, grandmother of Rhys, sister of Iola. Was horribly abused by father and sister. Lives in the Woodland Realm under constant care.

**Indis** – Woodland Elf. Counselor who specializes in PTSD. Mother of Turamarth; wife of Captain Ómar. Aunt to Daeron. Works in the Palace of the Woodland Realm. 

**Iola** – sister of Ina, aunt of Alun, great-aunt of Rhys. Was driven insane by father’s abuse; murdered Ina’s husband; killed herself while being taken to the dungeons.

**Írimë **\- Elven Healer and caretaker of Ina of Dale, who lives at the palace after suffering a lifetime of abuse at the hands of her father and sister. Sister of Ivárë, Mistress of the Healing Hall in the Woodland Realm.

**Ivárë **_\- _Elven Healer. Mistress if the infirmary at the Palace, and former protégé of Ermon, who oversaw her education. Sister of Írimë, the Healer assigned to care for Ina of Dale.

**Ivran** – Woodland Elf; personal Guardian to Thranduil. Husband of Cwën, Warden of the Woodland Realm, who came to live in Dale.

**Jarod** (aka "The Boss") - a very powerful and ruthless head of a sex-trafficking ring west of the Misty Mountains. Was killed by Bard in May 2943 T.A., when he tried to murder his children.

**Jarvis**\- "Farmer Jarvis," one of the livestock farmers that lives outside the City Walls. He has sheep, cattle and goats. Father of Judd, two other sons, and a daughter.

**Judd** \- Farmer Jarvis' oldest son, works with his father.

**Kædhan** – Male Elf. Archer in Rivendell’s Army staying in the North for Military Exchange in 2944-2945 T.A.

**Lalaith** – Estel’s mother. True name is Gilraen, wife of Arathorn. Lives in Rivendell with her son for their safety.

_**Lasbelin** \- “_Autumn," the name of Tauriel's reddish-brown Stallion, with a large strip on his face.

**Legolas** – Elven Prince of the Woodland Realm. Born T.A. 1942; 1001 years old. Was 11 years old when Mírelen was killed. Currently traveling with the Dúnedain.

**Legrin** – Male Silvan Elf. Warrior in Army of the Woodland Realm. Went to Rivendell in 2944-2945 T.A. for Military Exchange.

**Léod** \- Lord of the Wold of Rohan, and Third Marshal of the Mark. His territory borders that of Lothlorien and its nearby villages and he works together with the Elves to rescue kidnapped children from Harad and destroy their captors.

**Lewis **– See “Cook.”

**Liam** – Second son of Seren and Llewelyn. Brother to Ethan and Liliwen. Likes to tease Tilda and tell her she can’t do things because she’s “just a girl.”

**Lidros **\- Woodland Elf. In charge of all non-military and Royal Mail at the Palace.

**Liliwen** – Daughter of Seren and Llewelyn. 2 ½ years old. Sister to older brothers Ethan and Liam. Born in the Woodland Realm during the Long Winter.

**Lindo** – Lothlórien Elf. One Wardens visiting the North for a year, in the exchange program 2942-2943 T.A.

**Lindorë** – Wife of Oropher, Queen of the Woodland Realm; sailed to Valinor three years after Thranduil’s return from the War of the Last Alliance.

**Llewelyn** – Husband of Seren. Works in Construction with Old Ben. Father of sons Ethan and Liam, and daughter Liliwen. Thrilled that baby Liliwen as red hair like him.

**Lynne** – Former maid, now owns and operates Dale Fabrics with wife, Mona.

**Mablung** – Male Silvan Elf. Lt. Commander of Army of the Woodland Realm. Went to Rivendell in 2944-2945 T.A. for Military Exchange.

**Maddox** – Son of Ellyn and the late Owen of Dale. 7 years old. Brother of Bowen and Owena. Adopted by Daffyd and Anna.

**Maggie** – wife of Tom, Chief Constable of Dale. Runs the Pottery shop with her sons and their families.

**Mahtan** – Lothlórien Elf. Warden of the Galadhrim. Childhood friend of Orlin and Evranin; killed by Pallando in the attack on Lothlórien, June 2944 T.A.

**Mallorn** – Princess Sigrid’s horse. Golden mare with white mane and tail; named after the golden flowers of the trees of Lothlórien. 

**Mattie** – (Matilda) Bard’s late wife, died at Tilda’s birth. Came from Dorwinian; former teacher.

**Meássë** \- Elf from Rivendell. Sister to Lt. Vildan

**Meldon** – Woodland Elf. Guardian in the Army; guarded Royal Family of Dale; childhood friend of Legolas. Killed in May 2943 T.A. while guarding the Princesses of Dale.

**Melui** \- Rivendel Elfling. Niece of Captain Vildan, child of his sister Meássë. Her name means "sweet."

**Meryl** \- Tilda's pug dog, a gift from Galadriel and Celeborn, in August 2943 T.A.; friend of Thangon, who watches over her.

**Mírelen** – Thranduil’s late wife, killed by Orcs. Killed in the T.A. 1953

**Miriam** – Woman of Old Dale, lived under King Girion’s reign. Was a patient of Daeron’s but was killed by Roald, her abusive husband in 2767 T.A., three years before Smaug came to the North destroyed Dale.

**_Mistanâr_** – Wandering Mouse.” Vildan’s Grullo-colored mare.

**Mona** – Former maid, now owns and operates a Dale Fabrics with wife, Lynne.

**Naimi** – Mother of Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien, and wife to the late Halfar, former Marchwarden.

**Narseg** \- Rivendell Elf. Brother-in-Law of Captain Vildan.

**Narthon** \- Master Scribe of Woodland Realm; in charge of the manufacture of printed goods from the Woodland Realm. Saeros's immediate supervisor.

**Naurmôr** – "Black Fire," Thranduil's black stallion.

**Neldor** – Elf. Tauriel’s birth father. Killed by Orcs when their village was attacked and burnt down.

**Nórimo** \- Infant son of Ermon and Elénaril, along with sisters, Almarë, and Calapîa. (Triplets, born 2nd of September T.A. 2943).

**Nualë** – Woodland Elf; Guardian of Royal Family of Dale. Wife of Núin; killed along with husband by the Blue Wizard Pallando, during attack on Lothlórien.

**Núin** – Woodland Elf; Guard of the Gates of Dale. Husband of Nualë; killed by the Blue Wizard Pallando, during attack on Lothlórien.

**Núriel** \- Elf. Nanny for Legolas and Tauriel when they were children. Sailed to the West some years ago.

**Nyssiel** – Female Elf. Archer in Rivendell’s Army, staying in the North for a Military Exchange in 2944-2945 T.A.

**Óhtar** – Lothlórien Elf. Keeper of the Archives. Husband of Vériel, father to Orlin and Evranin.

**Óin**– Dwarven Healer. Part of the Original Company.

**Old Ben** – City Planner of New Dale. Age: 64 (Born in Laketown, 2880 T.A.). Husband to Hannah, Midwife of Dale. Adoptive father to Rhian and grandfather to Darryn. Former husband of the late Cristyn of Laketown.

**Ómar** – Woodland Elf. Father of Turamarth & husband of Indis. Uncle of Daeron. Captain of a Guardian Unit of the Woodland Realm.

**Orlin** – Lothlórien Elf, and Healer. Friend and colleague of Daeron, brother to Evranin. 

**Oropher** \- Late father of King Thranduil. Killed during the Battle of Dagorlad in the War of the Last Alliance; 3434 S.A.

**Orophin** – Warden of Lothlórien. Brother of Haldir and Rúmil, Wardens of Lothlorien. Middle son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi.

**Owena** – Daughter of Ellyn and the late Owen of Dale. Three years old. Adopted daughter of Daffyd and Anna. Sister of Bowen and Maddox.

**Pallando **– Former Blue Wizard. Also called “Luinrandir.” Disciple of Sauron; responsible for killing Thranduil’s wife. Attacked Lothlórien in June 2944 T.A. killed by Thranduil and Celeborn.

**Penlod** – Lothlórien Elf and Healer, who worked with Daeron during his exchange year. Born in Mithlond, friend of Rôgon.

**Percy** – Steward of Dale. Age: 62 (Born in Laketown, 2882, Third Age). Husband of Hilda, Seneschal of Dale. (Married 2905 T.A. – 39 years). Good friend of the late Brand of Laketown and devoted to Bard, King of Dale, and his family. Has good relationship with Thranduil and Galion.

**Powell** – Man of Dale, aged 21. Son of Anna and Daffyd; lives above the Livery in Dale with new wife Mari. Helps his parents look after Ellyn's children.

**Radagast** – Wizard; helps the forest. Friend of Beorn.

**Rahlen **– Male Elf. Captain and Warrior in Rivendell’s Army. Requested to stay in the North for a Military Exchange-Commanding officer for his unit 2944-2945 T.A.

**Raif** – Boy of Dale, aged 10. Son of Adila, owner of the Coffee Café in Dale, and Bron, blacksmith who was murdered in the attack on Dale in May 2943 T.A.

**Rhian** – Woman, aged 22. Wife of Daeron, Guardian/Healer of Dale, and mother of Darryn. Was abused by first husband, Garth. Age: 22 (Born in 2922 T.A.). Gained unexpected Immortal Status and special gifts when she married Daeron.

**Rhys** – son of Alun, grandson of Ina. Aged 15. Bain’s best friend; stayed with Royal Family in Thranduil’s Palace during the Long Winter.

**Roderic** (Rod) – Runs the Long Lake Tavern in Dale. Stayed in the Woodland Realm over the winter while he recovered from his injuries from the Battle of the Five Armies. Husband of Catrina.

**Rôgon** – Mithlond Elf. Born in Grey Havens, Age 6188 (Born in Doriath, 197, S.A.); nephew to Círdan the Shipwright. Skilled Blacksmith, married Galion (Aide to King Thranduil), August 2944 T.A.

**Rúmil** \- Warden of Lothlorien, who is spending a year in the Woodland Realm/Dale in 2942-2943 T.A. Brother to Haldir and Orophin; youngest son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi. Was attacked by Pallando in Lothlórien June 2944 T.A., but recovering under the care of his brothers.

**Ruvyn** – Woodland Elf. Personal Guard to Thranduil, but often watches Tilda.

**Sandastan** \- Turamarth's dun-colored horse. His name is a type of military shield formation.

**Saeros** – Woodland Elf, son of Seldion and Heril. Works in the Printer’s Guild at the Palace. Friend and colleague of Evranin.

**Seldion** \- Father of Saeros, killed by his son, who was under the influence of evil magic via Pallando, the Wizard and servant of Sauron.

**Sellwen** \- A child Daeron deeply bonded with when he was serving in Dale under King Girion. When she and her mother were killed, in 2767 T.A., Daeron suffered a breakdown from the loss.

**Seren** – Wife of Llewelyn of Dale. Mother of sons Ethan and Liam, and daughter Liliwen. Gave birth to her youngest in Thranduil’s Palace.

**Sigrid** – Princess of Dale; Age: 18 (Born 2926, T.A.). Daughter of Bard and Mattie. Stepdaughter of Thranduil. Training to be a Healer full-time.

**Silmon** – Silvan Elf. Head of the Agricultural Guild in the Woodland Realm. Husband of Emëldir, Head of Thranduil's Council

**Sílnaith** – “Shining Spear” Black Stallion with white mane and tail, purchased by Thranduil for Bain when his horse, Bregolas, was killed in the attack in Dale May 2943 T.A.

**Solana** – Tauriel’s mother. Killed by Orcs when Tauriel was very small.

**Tamir** – Girl, aged 12. Daughter of Adila, owner of the Coffee Café in Dale, and Bron, blacksmith who was murdered in the attack on Dale in May 2943 T.A.

**Tauriel** – Silvan Elf; Lady of the Woodland Realm. Age: 620 (Born 2324, T.A.) Adopted in infancy by Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. Stepdaughter of King Bard. Captain of the Guard for the Princess and Princesses of Dale. Daughter of the late Neldor & Solana. 

**Thangon** – “Shield Wall” Bard’s humongous dog, given to him by Thranduil. Goofy and playful, but can be deadly fierce.

**The Boss** \- see “Jarod.”

**Thenin** – Male Silvan Elf. Archer in Army of the Woodland Realm. Went to Rivendell in 2944-2945 T.A. for Military Exchange.

**Thranduil** – Elvenking of Mirkwood. Age: 3788 (Born 2597 S.A.); son of Oropher and Lindorië. Sindar Elf. Husband of Bard, King of Dale (Married Dec 17, 2941 T.A.) Husband of the late Queen Mírelen (Married 1479 T.A. - Widowed 1953 T.A., married 474 years); father of Legolas; adopted father of Tauriel. Stepfather of Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda.

**Tilda** – Princess of Dale. Age: 7 (Born 2934, T.A.). Daughter of Bard, King of Dale & the late Matilda of Laketown (Mattie). She greatly resembles her paternal grandmother, and Sigrid of Laketown, and is very petite in stature like her. Stepdaughter of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. Sister of Sigrid and Bain. Stepsister to Legolas and Tauriel.

**Tim** \- A Cooper (barrel-maker) that moved to Dale last February from parts unknown. He was secretly spying on the Royal Family in Dale for "The Boss" (who went by the name of "Jarod," in the City.)

**Tîrevan** \- “the Archer”, Fifth King of Dale (and Garon the Founder's third great-grandson.)

**Tom** – Man. Chief Constable of Dale. Owns the Pottery shop, with his wife, Maggie. Father of three sons. Was recently hired to be Constable of Dale, along with his eldest son, Egon.

**Trip** – Man who worked for The Boss in the city of Duston, before the Dwarves rescued the children in November 2942 T.A. Their ears were cut off and were branded criminals.

**Turamarth** – Woodland Elf. Daeron’s cousin and best friend. Son of Ómar and Indis. Learned to speak Westron over the Long Winter. Lieutenant in the elite Guardian Unit of the Woodland Realm. Has feelings for Evranin, but was attacked by Pallando in June 2944 T.A. and needs time to recover.

**Vildan** – Male Elf. Warrior in Rivendell’s Army staying in the North for Military Exchange in 2944–2945 T.A. Son of Valendil; sister to Measse and Uncle to Melui.

**Vórima** – Elven Horse. The strawberry roan that Turamarth bought for Bowen to help pull him out of his depression.

**Wynny** – Kitchen maid in Dale. Was tricked by Tim into giving him details of the Royal Family for The Boss. Was found murdered her apartment during attack on Dale May 2943 T.A.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond, Glorfindel, and Feren come approach Thranduil with an interesting proposal.
> 
> Then Elrond asks Thranduil and Bard for a private meeting. 
> 
> When Tilda was healed with the Light of Eärendil, how did it affect her?
> 
> They are about to find out. Don't look now, but...

_“Time after time, I tell myself that I'm_

_So lucky to be loving you_

_So lucky to be the one you run to see_

_In the evening when the day is through_

_I only know what I know_

_The passing years will show_

_You've kept my love so young, so new_

_And time after time you'll hear me say_

_That I'm so lucky to be loving you…”_

** _ Time After Time,  _ ** _ by** Jule Styne / Sammy Cahn** _

**City of Dale, 28th of September 2944 T.A.**

“Lords Elrond and Glorfindel to see you, Ivran announced, “as well as Commander Feren.”

“Send them in; thank you.” Thranduil and Legolas exchanged puzzled looks as they got to their feet. “Elrond, why the formality?”

“Because we come to you on official business,” the Lord of Imladris saluted. “We have a proposition for you.”

“I am intrigued,” the Elvenking waved them all to sit. “What is on your mind?”

“Two years ago, there was an exchange of officers between your Kingdom and Lothlórien, yes?” Glorfindel asked.

“There was; it was Celeborn’s idea, and we were both pleased with its success,” Thranduil said. “Am I to understand that you might be interested in the same sort of arrangement?”

“It seems,” the Noldor Warrior leaned back in his chair, “that some of Lord Elrond’s escort are fascinated with the culture here in the North, and expressed some interest in staying for a while.”

“How many?”

“There are six: Captain Rahlen is the superior officer and will be in charge of the unit. He is multi-skilled, but prefers groundwork with the sword and spear. Vildan is also a warrior, who is especially talented with fighting knives—”

“He is!” Legolas sat forward. “I sparred with him several times during my stay in Imladris! I have been telling Tauriel about him, and she was disappointed she has not had the chance to go up against him.”

“Perhaps she may yet,” the Elvenking smiled. “I think I would like to see that.”

Glorfindel went on. “I have two Archers: Kædhan, and his sister Nyssiel are eager to help your troops in the Forest.”

“So, you propose they simply stay, and our Elves will serve as an escort in their place?”

“I do not see why not; your Guardians are well-trained as the Warden’s of Lothlórien or the Vanguard of Imladris. We have much we could learn from each other.”

“Yet you said six; who are the other two?”

Elrond cleared his throat. “My sons have also expressed an interest.”

“That would be wonderful!” Legolas grinned. 

_“Ai!” _The Elvenking rolled his eyes. “Will my Forest survive?”

“Make no mistake: they will answer to Captain Rahlen,” Glorfindel added quickly. “Technically, Elladan and Elrohir are of the same rank, but it does the twins good to be reminded of the chain of command once in a while.”

“I will hold you to that, _Mellon nîn_,” Thranduil laughed. 

“Actually, the Forest is why they want to stay,” Elrond said. “They wish to work in your Southern lands finishing what their grandmother started three years ago.” His face grew grim. “They were as shocked as we were to learn of Sauron and return of the Nazgûl. While the Forest cannot be cleansed until Sauron is destroyed, they want to ensure its safety a much as possible.” 

“I jest about your sons’ sense of humor, Elrond,” Thranduil assured him, “but never doubt my respect for them as warriors. They are among the best I have ever seen. If they want to help clear the spiders and Orcs from my lands, they would be most welcome.”

“I thank you. They were not pleased when they learned Galadriel went up against the Dark Lord himself.” His small smile had a hint of amusement. “Never mind that she could destroy a dozen Orcs with the snap of her fingers; they are protective; especially after their mother was hurt. They are even worse with Arwen.”

“Ah. No one can tease their sister but them?”

“Precisely. Valar help anyone who puts a frown on her face.”

“I know you and King Dáin have established good relations, but you should know that part of the program involves work with the Dwarven military? To learn to fight alongside each other in battle?”

“We do,” Glorfindel answered. “In fact, Lord Dwalin has requested to travel with us; he is moving to the Blue Mountains to wed Lady Dís, and he is looking forward to the opportunity to introduce and demonstrate the same program there with your Guardians.”

Thranduil turned to Feren. “You would not be here if you did not already approve.”

“Correct, My Lord.” The Commander smiled. “In fact, I have taken the liberty of coming up with a list of candidates, all waiting for your consent.”

“And who do you have in mind?” 

“I would like Lt. Commander Mablung to head up the unit. He has earned his rank as my second, but he has never had the chance to travel beyond our Western borders. The experience would make him an even better strategist and warrior. I chose four others who would also make the most if their time there: Maglan and Morwë are brothers, and excellent fighting partners; their prowess in combat compliment each other as much as Turamarth and Daeron.”

“That is a concept we would like to encourage with our Vanguards,” Glorfindel nodded. “Celeborn is pleased at the results among his Wardens.”

“That is gratifying to hear. Who else?”

“Legron is close to being promoted to Captain, and I have two Archers, Thenin and Eílíent who have done exemplary work in the Forest, but they need a change.”

“How so?” Elrond asked.

“Eílíent’s parents were killed by spiders,” Feren explained. “She is exceptional with the bow and arrow, but her work is beginning to turn into a vendetta, and while I do not blame her, I have to order her to rotate out and rest. She needs time away from the Forest, to regain her perspective.”

“And what about Thenin? Does he also need a rest?”

“Thenion is Eílíent’s husband, and I will not force long separations in peacetime.”

“I agree,” Glorfindel’s brows shot up. “But you are sure Eílíent is up to the task?”

“Absolutely, My Lord. All she needs is a change of scenery, and you will find no complaint with Thenin’s prowess.” Feren’s gaze met Thranduil’s. “Unless you have doubts?”

“I do not,” he told the Imladris Elves. “Feren has chosen well; all six candidates would do the Woodland Realm and Rivendell credit. Still, this does not give them much notice; you are leaving in a week.”

“Most of these Elves have expressed an interest in this exchange. If they cannot, there are others who are equally worthy. This is a good program, Thranduil.”

“Then we will do it. Once we have the list confirmed, we can announce it at the Feast.”

“I look forward to it.” Glorfindel said, as he and Feren rose.

“Legolas, might I speak to Thranduil privately?”

“Of course, My Lord,” the Prince got to his feet, and after a polite salute, left with the others.

The Elvenking went to his credenza, poured them both some wine, and handed one to Elrond. “It is too bad Turamarth is in no condition to go.”

“We are going to go to Lothlórien first.” The Noldor took a sip. “A trip through the Forest, and a few weeks in the Golden Wood could cause a serious setback.

“Some other year, perhaps. Is there something special you need to do in the Golden Wood?”

“Yes. And that is what I wish to speak to you about. The remaining members of the White Council—”

“And the bearers of That Which is Unnamed?” Thranduil offered.

“That, too. As we told you at the time, I received that message from the White Tower, and sent copies to the three Wizards. We need to discuss why Saruman did not respond.”

“Perhaps the birds were waylaid.”

“No; all three birds came back with it. The message I had sent to Galadriel came back as well, because the birds saw or sensed something they didn’t like. I am concerned that the same is true for Saruman.”

“How long since you have been to Isengard?”

“Almost as many centuries since I have been to the North. There was never much need; the White Council always gathers in Rivendell.”

“I am sure there is a reasonable explanation, Elrond.”

“After Galadriel banished Sauron in Dol Guldur, Saruman ordered me to take her to safety. I never paid much attention to what he said next, but it has increasingly weighed on my mind.”

“Which was?”

“I had suggested we attack Sauron right then, but he said, and I quote, ‘Leave Sauron to me.’ I thought little of it then; he is an expert in such things,” his hands fiddled with his glass goblet. “Perhaps he knew something we did not? Or it is possible he knew our efforts would be fruitless; who can say? I was worried about my mother-in-law, with good reason.”

“I am glad you were there to help her.”

“It was a closer call than most people know. But praise Varda, she is well.” Elrond shook his head. “I have thought much about this after our confrontation with Pallando. He was an Istari; a Maia, yet he was seduced! I am not saying the same is true for Saruman, Thranduil, but until we have a better idea, I recommend you do not initiate contact with him. You could be right in that there could be a good reason for all this, but my heart says different.”

“That should not be a problem. I have not seen him since Mírelen’s funeral, and had little to do with him otherwise. If he contacts me, I will send you a message.”

“Good.” Elrond shifted in his chair. “Now, to the second reason for this meeting: when I first arrived, I spoke to Bard about your youngest daughter. I have observed her, but have not had the chance to closely examine her. I would like to do so, with your permission.”

“Has Bard agreed to this?”

“He has. But I want your consent as well; I see how close you are,” he gave the Elvenking a small smile.

“I will not say I favor one of our children over the other,” Thranduil was quick to say, “but she has allowed me to experience much of the joy I missed as a parent, and I am grateful.”

“I can see that; and obviously your other children understand.” Elrond laughed. “When Arwen was small, my sons fought over her. They still do, and she uses it to her advantage.”

“She is a smart _Elleth_.” The Elvenking smirked. “Tilda is in school at the moment; when would you like to see her?”

“Oh, I do not want to interrupt her lessons; we could do it after, and you and Bard should be present.”

“I would insist upon that. If we take her to the Healing House, she might get nervous.”

“How about in here? She is comfortable in this room, and it offers privacy.” Athought occurred to the Elvenking. “Elrond, I think I should tell you about my experience with the _Elenion Panilwë Húmë_.” 1

The Imladris Lord gave him a cautious look. “We were instructed not to speak of that, Thranduil. I know you were given that same information…” 2

“And I will not.” Thranduil waved his hand. “This has to do with Tilda. My father told me something, and if you are to examine her, this might help.”

“And what was it?” 

“It was he who told me Galadriel used the Light of Eärendil to save her. He also said the Valar were interested in her.”

“In what way?”

“His exact words were, _‘From young Tilda’s line will come an answer to a long and fervent prayer.’ _ Bard is a bit nervous about her being in such close contact with a Silmaril; he cannot see those jewels as anything but evil.” 3

“Your husband is not completely wrong, but Galadriel would never endanger her, even if it is to save her. Still, I will look particularly close.”

“I would appreciate it. Let us take care of this today; I will let my husband know, and bring her here immediately after school.”

Later in the afternoon, Thranduil and Ruvyn waited at the school with the rest of the parents, and when Miss Eryn opened the door and rang the bell, the children poured outside.

“Hi _Ada!_ Teacher says my spelling is getting better! Look!” She showed him a test with a large “B” marked in red ink. 

“Excellent, _hênig!”_

“See, Ruvyn?”

“I am very impressed, My Lady,” the Elf grinned. “I see our practice has paid off.”

“Practice?” A quizzical brow arched above Thranduil’s left eye.

“Uh huh! Ruvyn makes me go over all my spelling words, until I get it right. And he helped me with my Sindarin, this summer! Sometimes I can’t say the words right, so he taught me how to roll my ‘Rs.’ See? Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

The Elvenking held his breath and fought off a wave of jealousy. It wasn’t anyone’s fault he was gone so long; the Guardian was only doing his job. “Very good, _Tithen Pen.” _He tousled her hair. To Ruvyn, he nodded. “It is a comfort to know our Princess was well-cared for.”

“I was but a poor substitute for her _Ada.” _The Guardian was diplomatic, but there was fondness in his eyes.

“Are we going to ride today?” She asked.

“I am afraid not, my little love. We have an appointment with Lord Elrond, who would like to speak to you.”

“Why? He talks to me anyway.”

“Do you like him?”

“Uh huh.”

“I am glad, for he is a very wise and powerful Healer. When he heard about how Galadriel and Daeron saved you, he asked us if he could examine you. He is very interested, and wants to see how they did it.”

“Oh.” Tilda looked thoughtful. “Will it hurt?”

“Not at all.” Thranduil got down on one knee to eye-level. _“_Da and I will be there the entire time. It will not hurt, and he may also ask many questions, which I hope you will answer to the best of your ability.” He stroked her head. “But, _Tithen Pen_, we will not make you do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

“But why does he want to?”

“Well, suppose another little girl in Rivendell gets sick; he might learn something that could help her get well, too. You would be helping, would you not?”

Tilda’s lips pursed nervously. “You’ll be there?”

“Every minute,” Thranduil smiled. “Do you remember when you wanted a job, and I asked you to listen to the children, so we could help them? 4

“Uh huh,” she nodded, “Da says a Princess is supposed to serve her people…”

“He is right. How would you feel if he learns something that could help other children?”

“How long will it take?”

“Not too long. An hour at the most, I would think.”

“Okay. _Then_ we go riding,” she turned her blue eyes on him full-blast. “Is it a deal?”

“We have a deal.” Thranduil stood and grinned, _“but only if_ you let me hold your hand all the way home.”

Tilda moaned and rolled her eyes, but when she held out her hand, she was smiling.

***************

Bard couldn’t help his trepidation, as he watched Elrond examine their daughter. Thranduil must have sensed it, because his hand reached for his and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

He should be nothing but grateful; Tilda was only with them today because of a true miracle. Wasn’t that enough? 

But he'd spent too many years living under the Master of Laketown, which taught him that _everything_ came with a price. He couldn’t help but fear that their daughter’s renewed health had come with some sort of catch. What if she was obligated to do or be something she might not want? 

Elrond and Tilda were sitting in chairs facing each other, and the Elf-Lord couldn’t have been more kind or patient, when he asked questions. 

> _“Do you sleep well at night?”_
> 
> _“Uh huh.”_
> 
> _“And do you have dreams?”_
> 
> _“Sometimes.”_
> 
> _“Do you remember them?”_
> 
> _“Most of them. Sometimes they are scary. I used to dream a lot about when the Dragon came, and when the Orcs came, and Da had to kill the Troll, but I don’t do that anymore.”_
> 
> _“I am glad. What about now?”_
> 
> _“Well, sometimes I dream about when the bad men came and put us in the wagon. I don’t remember much about that, except when Ada got me out and gave me to Tur.” 5_
> 
> _“I imagine that must have been very frightening.”_
> 
> _“I don’t like to think about it. It hurt.” _She rubbed her chest.
> 
> _“Your heart hurt?”_
> 
> _“A lot.”_
> 
> _ “But it does not hurt anymore? Not even a little bit?”_
> 
> _“Nuh uh.” _She shook her head vigorously._ “I have good dreams, too. Do you want to hear about those?”_

Bard leaned forward slightly, as did his husband. What was this? Elrond glanced at them, then continued his interview.

> _“I would like that very much, Tilda.”_
> 
> _ “Well… I dream about the place with the big trees, and Celeborn. It’s really pretty there.”_
> 
> _“It is,” _Elrond agreed._ “Have you been there often?”_
> 
> _“I’ve never been there. When Gallerdil and Daeron were helping my heart get better, Celeborn sat and talked to me. I wanted,” _Tilda frowned_, “to go up to those houses in the trees, but he said there wasn’t time.”_

The Bowman breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing unusual; she had told everyone about that as soon as she woke up that night.

> _“And sometimes I dream about this really pretty place, and there’s a river, and this really, really long grass…”_

Thranduil tensed beside him. 

> _“I see. It sounds very peaceful.”_
> 
> _“It was nice, I suppose.” _Tilda lifted her shoulders briefly_. “It’s also kind of boring; I mean, there wasn’t anything going on…”_
> 
> _“There were no people in this dream?”_
> 
> _“Only once. There was this really tall Elf who was across the field; I mean REALLY tall. And he had blond hair like Glorfindel, but I could tell it wasn’t him.”_

The Kings exchanged worried glances with one another, then turned back to their child. 

> _“What makes you think it wasn’t Glorfindel you saw?”_
> 
> _“His face was different from that guy. I mean they are both pretty, you know, but Glorfindel has that glow-y thing? This one didn’t. And his hair was different.” _She held her hands up a few inches from either side of her head._ “His hair was big, curly like Rhian’s only blonde, like Ada’s – well, more like Legolas; his hair is more gold-y, you know?”_
> 
> _“That is interesting. And you only saw this person once?”_
> 
> _“Uh huh.”_
> 
> _“Did this Elf say anything?”_
> 
> Tilda shook her head._ “He just… looked around, like he was trying to find something.”_
> 
> _“Something, or someone?”_
> 
> _“I don’t know,” _she spread her hands and shrugged._ “It was kinda sad; he looked lonely. You know, how Ada looked before he and Da got married.”_
> 
> _“Did you say anything to him?”_
> 
> _“I tried to, but I don’t think he knew I was there. He walked away, then he disappeared. Then I woke up.”_
> 
> Elrond stroked his chin._ “And you only saw this Elf once?”_
> 
> _“Uh huh. If he comes again, should I try harder?”_
> 
> _“You did nothing wrong, my child. If that person was meant to see you, he would have. Can you do something for me?”_
> 
> _“Sure.”_
> 
> _“If you have any other such dreams, anything at all, would you please tell your parents?”_
> 
> _“Even the scary ones?”_
> 
> _“Any dream you have. May I ask a favor, Tilda?”_
> 
> _“What?”_
> 
> _“Could your Ada write down what you dream and send it to me?”_
> 
> _“Would it help somebody else?”_
> 
> _“Excuse me?”_
> 
> _“Ada said you might find out something that could help others. I want to help people, ‘cause I’m Princess and that’s what we should do.” _Her face brightened._ “Maybe I could write you and tell you about my dreams myself?”_
> 
> _“I would like that very much, but tell your parents just the same, would you?” _Elrond gave her a big smile. _“What a brave and admirable Princess you are. Now, could you please stand up for me, and hold very still, while I give you a physical examination?”_
> 
> _“And it won’t hurt?”_
> 
> _“Not one bit; you have my word.”_
> 
> _”Okay.”_

Tilda allowed him to place his hand on her chest, while he “watched” her heart, then asked her to turn around, and take some deep breaths, so he could look at her lungs. Lastly, he placed his hands on her head, and asked her to close her eyes, so he could check the sheath surrounding her brain, where the worst of the infection struck, two years ago.

> _“Well done, Tilda!” _Elrond smiled at her._ “You are a wonderfully healthy little girl. Have you suffered any sort of illness since you spent time with Lord Celeborn?”_
> 
> _“Nope. Not even a cold! Sigrid had a bad one last winter, and Daeron made her go to bed, but I didn’t even get the sniffles!”_
> 
> _“Hmmm… And your friends at school have been healthy?”_
> 
> _“Sometimes they get sick, but the Elves help them a lot.”_
> 
> _“That is nice of them.” _Elrond tilted his head and narrowed his eyes._ “You have been feeling well? No headaches? No aching muscles?”_
> 
> _“Nuh uh.”_
> 
> _“Excellent! I am happy for you.” _He patted her head._ “I believe we are finished, little Princess. I thank you for your time.”_
> 
> _“You are welcome,” _She lifted the sides of her dress and curtsied low_. “I ‘ell nîn, Hîr Elrond.”_
> 
> Elrond laughed and clasped his hands together._ “Your Sindarin is perfect! Your Ada must be very proud! You must ask him to teach you Quenya, soon.”_
> 
> _“Really?”_
> 
> _“Of course; if you can pick up this language so easily, I see no reason why he should not begin your lessons on the ancient tongue of our people.”_

Tilda’s eyes shone, as she turned to Bard and Thranduil. “Could I?”

“Of course, _Tithen Pen_. You already know some, remember? How do you talk to Meryl?”

“Oh, that’s right!”

At the mention of that name, there was an eager scratching and yipping at the door to Thranduil’s study. Bard got up to open it, and the little pug came tearing in to see her mistress, her corkscrew tail a blur. “I think she’s tired of waiting.”

“Are we done?” Tilda picked her dog up and cuddled her. “Can we go riding now?”

“Sure can, Little Bean. Go on upstairs and change out of your school clothes. _Ada_ will be waiting for you, when you come back down.”

“Okay! _Tulë, Meryl!”_ And off she went, with the little dog scampering behind her.

The Kings turned to the Elf-Lord. “Well?” Bard asked.

“You have nothing to worry about. She is more than healthy; any lingering effects of her Brain Fever are gone. In fact, I think the Light of Eärendil has made her impervious to any illness.”

“Really?” Bard’s eyes widened. “So, she’ll never…”

“She will never suffer another illness, and I am sure you have noticed that her memory problems and her mood swings from the damage to her brain are also gone.”

“Yes.” Thranduil agreed. “But it is still wonderful to hear.”

“She used to limp on her left side when she got tired,” Bard was still wary. “You are saying that’s completely healed?”

“Yes. I must tell you something else I observed: Those of us so gifted, have an ability to…see who a person is. By that I mean, when I met you, Bard, I could immediately see you were Immortal. I already knew this, of course, because of what Thranduil said about your marriage.”

“Is that why you were surprised at Daeron and Rhian?”

“It is along the same lines.”

“How? How can you see that?”

“There are no words in Westron to describe it. But let us think in terms of color, yes? Suppose the Elves and all other Immortal beings have an aura that is, say… Yellow?”

“Aura?”

“If you can picture the air immediately surrounding Thranduil as Yellow, that is what I am referring to. You would see he was Immortal.”

“And me?” 

“You are yellow, as well, although a different shade.”

“All right. And what about Sigrid and Bain, or Percy and the rest?”

“We can assign them a Blue quality.”

“That makes sense. And only certain Elves can see this?”

“Yes. Myself and my children, because we have Maian blood due to one of my great-grandmothers. Mithrandir and Radagast can, because they are Istari. Galadriel and Glorfindel were born in Valinor, under the light of the Two Trees, which give them special powers, as well.”

“And Thranduil?”

“I cannot, _Meleth nîn_. I am a powerful Sindar, but not gifted in that way.”

“As you remember, Bard,” Elrond continued. “Eärendil’s Blessing has made it possible for an Elf and a Mortal to join—”

“So, what would someone in that relationship look like?”

“Normally, since each of them ‘gift the other’ with part of themselves, one could say they combine to make the color Green.”

“As with mixing paints, yes?” Thranduil offered.

“Exactly. As I have said to Thranduil, several Elves in my lands have joined with Mortals since my father’s blessing, and they are ‘Green,’ if we continue with this analogy. Impervious to illness, live a longer life, but will eventually age and die. They can be compared to my brother, Elros.

“Elros? You had a brother?”

“A twin brother, yes. The Elves of my particular line were given the right to choose. When he chose Mortality, he lived to be almost five hundred years old. He was the founder of the Númenoreans race.” 6

“Really? I’ll have to grab one of Thranduil’s books and read more about it. So, we just found out that Rhian and Daeron are different, like Thranduil and I. When you see them, they’re… Yellow?”

“Yes.” Elrond paused. “Now as to Tilda—"

"Well, that's easy," Bard said, "she's Mortal, so that would make her blue."

The Elf-Lord's gave him a meaningful look.

"She_ is_ blue, right? Right?"

Elrond gave him a patient look. "Not exactly..."

“What do you mean, _'_Not exactly?' _What,_ exactly? Oh, gods…” Bard’s heart began thrashed against his ribs. “Oh, shit... You’re about to drop another bombshell, aren’t you?”

“Just wait, _Meleth nîn_.” Thranduil put his arm around him. “It may not be so bad.”

“I would hardly think it is bad at all,” Elrond said. “Before I tell you, I want you to know that I have met with Glorfindel, Mithrandir and my sons, who all share this opinion—”

“Oh, gods…” Bard said again, and buried his face in his hands. “Are you telling me that now she’s some sort of Goddess who can spew lightning from her fingers or something like that?”

“Nothing like that, I promise, but she has been given a gift. The right to choose.”

“Choose what?” The Bowman’s head went up and he met Thranduil’s eyes, before they turned back to the Elf Lord in front of them. “No scary magic stuff?”

“Not at all. Your Tilda has been granted the same rights as those of my line. When the time comes, she will have the right to choose her own fate, as will all the children born from her body.”

“You are saying she is like your children?”

“Yes. Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen all have a ‘color’ that is uniquely their own; one that cannot be defined, because it is up to them to choose what it will be. Your youngest child shares it.”

“How can this be?” The Elvenking gasped and squeezed Bard’s fingers so tight it hurt.

“My father and mother were the first of my line to be given the choice of fates. Perhaps it was because the light that healed Tilda came from a Silmaril that he possesses. Eärendil gave Galadriel that light, and to my knowledge, that was the only time the Light of Eärendil was used to heal someone in this fashion, and it has remained.” Elrond smiled. “Perhaps he was meant to, for some reason unknown to us, but either way, I like to think my father gave her – and you – a gift. If she joins with a child of Man, she will be Mortal, and be given the Gift of Men, but with a long life. If she weds an Elf, she will be bound to Arda, like you, and a place will be made for her on the Ships.”

“I…” Bard gasped and grabbed his Elf’s arm. “I… Oh, shit… I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down, _Meleth nîn_.” 

“Oh, right.” He said weakly, “Oh, good...” Then he put his head between his knees, and mumbled. “_Ulmo’s fucking balls…”_

“Bard!” The Elvenking hissed. 

Still doubled over, Bard fumbled in his pockets, and pulled out a handful of coins. “Put this in the swear jar, and just let me have my nervous breakdown, all right? Oh, shit... I can’t breathe...”

“You will be all right, _hênig_.” Elrond smiled, then came over and put his hand on Bard’s head. After reciting an incantation, his heart and breathing calmed down. “You are only having a panic attack.”

Just then the sound of skipping came bouncing down the Hall.

“_Ada!”_ Tilda called. “I’ve got my green riding suit on, and Tauriel did my braids and everything!”

“I will head her off.” The Elvenking got up. “Stay there until you are steadier on your feet, _Meleth nîn_.” He turned to the Elf-lord and saluted. “Thank you, Elrond, truly.” 

“It is not _my_ doing,” he held up his hands. “You can thank my mother-in-law and my father.”

“And believe me; I will. I will write to Galadriel when I get back,” he said, as he dashed quickly out of the study and closed the door. 

Elrond handed Bard a strong drink, as they both listened to Tilda and Thranduil.

> _“Your hair looks very nice, Tithen Pen; you look just like your sister!” _
> 
> _“Yep! And I want to saddle Blossom all by myself this time.” _
> 
> _“I will need to check her girth strap; you know the rules.”_
> 
> _“Fiiiine,” _she sighed._ “But I want to brush her after, too. Can you help me reach?”_
> 
> _“I will be happy to.”_
> 
> _“Annnd clean her feet? All by myself?”_
> 
> _“We shall see.” _Thranduil told her._ “Menathanc?”_
> 
> _Tilda’s squeal of delight echoed down the hall. “Ada!” She giggled. “Put me down!”_
> 
> _”Let us go see Cook and bring some snacks, yes?”_

Elrond smiled at him, as their cheerful voices faded away.

“This is good news, Bard; I hope you know that. It is a great honor.”

“Oh, I know… I know…” His hands still shook. “I just…”

“I think your husband is pleased,” Elrond said quietly. 

“Pleased? Are you kidding? More time with his baby girl? He’s going to be walking around with that grin for months!” Bard lifted his goblet and drank his wine in one pull. “I, on the other hand, still need a few minutes to get used to this. Not that I’m not grateful or happy, mind you. It’s just…”

“I know.” The Elf laughed. "Would you like some more?"

Bard held out his empty glass. “Fill it to the top, and keep ‘em coming.”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Menathanc - Shall we go?_

_Meleth nîn - My love_

_Tithen Pen - Little One_

_ _Tulë, Meryl! - (Q.) Come, Meryl!_ _

**NOTES:**

[1] _Elenion Panilwë Húmë_ – (Q.) “Walk among the Stars” is a special alignment of the stars and planets, which only happens on _Tarnin Austa_ (Summer Solstice) once every thousand years. Legends say that if the skies are clear on this night, the veil between worlds can be lifted for a time. but only for those whose hearts have no malice.

[2] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 43: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/38194661>

[3] _Ibid.____ _Ch. 44: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/38329433>

[4] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 15: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/25456920>

[5] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 38: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37497905>

[6] _Legolas, Ion nîn_, Ch. 27: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/44949553>


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turamarth begins to make some progress, with a little help from a friend. 
> 
> Galion and Rôgon enjoy their new domestic bliss. It isn't always blissful, but they're trying to get the hang of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rivendell Vanguard staying in Woodland Realm:  
Capt. Rahlen- Commanding Officer & Warrior  
Lt. Vildan - 2nd in Command; Warrior  
Lt. Elladan – Warrior  
Lt. Elrohir - Warrior  
Lt. Kædhan - Archer  
Lt. Nyssiel – Archer
> 
> Woodland Guardians staying in Rivendell:  
Lt. Commander Mablung – Commanding Officer and Warrior  
Lt. Maglan – 2nd in Command; Warrior  
Lt. Morwë – Warrior  
Lt. Legron – Warrior  
Lt. Thenin - Archer  
Lt. Eílíent - Archer

_“I'll light the fire_

_You put the flowers in the vase that you bought today_

_Staring at the fire for hours and hours while I listen to you_

_Play your love songs all night long for me, only for me_

_Come to me now and rest your head for just five minutes, everything is good_

_Such a cozy room, the windows are illuminated by the_

_Sunshine through them, fiery gems for you, _

_Only for you…”_

** _ Our House  _ ** _ by** Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young** _

**City of Dale, 15th of October 2944 T.A.**

Bowen had been coming to Rhian and Daeron’s house a couple of times a week to play Strategem or cards with Turamarth, and, as with most things, what used to be a rewarding activity, seemed hollow and futile. But he forced himself to concentrate, both on games and the conversation, and the routine helped.

Today, Beriel, the big dog Lord Thranduil followed behind him into the Sitting Room, to the great delight of Darryn, who came running.

“Hi, Bow’n!” he waved with a grin, then patted the dog’s head. “Hi Bewwy!”

Beriel wagged her tail and covered the little boy’s face with kisses.

“Yuck!” Darryn scrunched his face up and laughed.

“Are you ready for another game?”

“I am,” Turamarth said, as he rose from the couch. “But I thought we might go for a ride. _Vórima _needs her exercise now that she is carrying a foal, and I have not ridden _Sandastan_ this week.”

“Sure!” Bowen grinned. “See you later, Rhian!”

“You boys go have fun. Do you want Beriel to stay here?”

“I don’t mind taking her, but if you think Darryn might like it?”

“He would. We had to send our cat over to Hannah’s house; the baby was a bit to much for Floyd to take, and he misses him. It would also help distract Darryn when U-N-C-L-E T-U-R leaves.” She winced. “He gets upset.”

“We can do that.” Bowen scratched his dog behind the ears. _“Serë, Beriel.”_

In truth, Tur had no desire to go out, but he had begun to grow impatient with himself, and knew he needed to work through this anxiety. Rhian had told him how Hannah and Indis made her stick to a regiment during her recovery after Darryn was born: she had to bathe and dress up every single day, and his mother walked her up and down the Hall in the Royal Wing, to get her used to being out of her apartment. 

_“Those rooms were like my ‘Cave,’” she told him. “My safe space, and it was hard to leave it. But little by little, they made me go out; King Thranduil wouldn’t let the guards come up to me and talk to me, even, I was that scared. But after a while, it got easier.” 1_

So, Tur took deep breaths, and went. Bowen kept by his side and spoke of nonsensical things, and while was grateful, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty.

“It’s okay,” Bowen said, as if reading his thoughts.

“I know,” Tur said, with a confidence he didn’t feel. “You should not be worrying about me, Bowen.”

“You’re my friend,” the boy said simply. “You help me, I help you; what’s the difference?”

“The difference is, I am an adult, _Mellneth_. _I _should be looking after _you.”_

“And you will.” The boy stopped and looked up at him with grey eyes that were much too mature for his thirteen years. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Tur, but I’m not gonna stand by and not help. You were there for me when Mam died. I don’t know what…” he sighed. 

“I wanted to,” he put his hand on Bowen’s shoulder. 

“I know. Now it’s my turn. So, let me.”

“But you do not know what happened, Bowen.”

“Does it matter?” the boy blinked up at him, as the sun lit up his blonde hair like a halo. “I don’t think I need to know; I would be your friend anyway,” he lifted his shoulders quickly. “I punched King Bard, and you didn’t let that bother you, did you?”

_From the mouths of babes…_ He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face. “You are right. Thank you.” 

Bowen nodded and they proceeded on their way. Several Dale folks waved and said hello, and the boy waved back on behalf of both of them. 

“Why do we not bring our supper with us?” Tur said. “Let us go into Adila’s, and we will get some food to take with us?”

“I’d have to let Anna and Daffyd know.”

“I have an idea about that. Come on.”

They went into the small Café, and after they ordered their sandwiches, Tur pulled some extra coins out of his pocket. “Is your son around?”

“Raif is just in the back, finishing his homework.”

“Could we ask him to deliver some messages for us?”

“Certainly. Raif!” she called.

“Yes, _Uma?_” the dark-haired boy came out from the back. “Hi, Bowen!”

“Turamarth has a job for you,” she smiled as she wiped off the counter.

“Could you please go to Lady Rhian’s house and tell her we will be home after supper? Then go to the Livery and tell Daffyd the same thing? We do not want them to worry.”

“Sure!” The boy’s white teeth gleamed against his olive complexion.

“For your trouble.” Tur handed him two coins.

“Oh, I do not think—” Adila began.

“No, Mistress; I insist. He is rendering us a great service.” Tur made himself smile. 

“All right, then.” Adila smiled back, and put her hand on his forearm. “I’m so happy to see you out and about again, my friend. We all care about you.”

Turamarth froze, but forced himself to tolerate the touch. _This is a good thing, _he told himself. _It will get easier…_ If Rhian could do this, then so could he. She promised.

“Thank you. I… appreciate it,” he swallowed, and put a smile on his face. “Could you please make sure to put the spicy mustard on my sandwich?”

Adila laughed, “Of course.”

They continued their walk through Dale, and when they reached the stables, _Sandastan_ greeted him with a loud neigh. 

_“Gi suilon,_ _Mellon nîn_.” He stroked the stallion’s tan neck and tugged gently at the dark brown mane. “Would you like to take a ride?”

Bowen was leading _Vórima_ from her stall with remarkable expertise, and within minutes they were saddled with their food and some waterskins they borrowed from the Head Groom.

It was good to get away from the house. And, he had to admit, he needed a break from his cousin and his family. In fact, one of the reasons Tur decided to start pushing himself to get out every day was because the increasing tension between Daeron and Rhian was beginning to affect him, though he would never hurt them by saying so. 

Something was not right, he knew, since that meeting with the Kings and the others from Rivendell. Rhian had come home in tears that day, overwhelmed at the idea of being Immortal, and that she had been chosen by the Valar for some reason that still wasn’t quite clear. They had been hoping a bit of time would help.

But so far it hasn’t.

Their smiles were forced, for the baby’s sake and perhaps for his own. Daeron was showing her patience and extra consideration, and she appreciated it, but when he gently tried to get her to discuss it, she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Either way, Turamarth needed to work past this, because if Daeron and Rhian did not find a way to accept this news, the fighting would start, and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to bear it. And if their marriage was in as much trouble as his heart forebode, he wanted to be well enough to help them.

Daeron was his _Gwador_, Rhian was every bit as dear, and thanks to Darryn, the dark binding around Tur’s heart was beginning to loosen at last. It was his first sign of hope for himself, and he needed to use it, to work with it, and to make it grow in his heart.

While he and Bowen rode out the West Gate, he decided, he would write a letter to his mother, for some guidance. This was too important to be left to chance.

They were his family.

***************

**City of Dale, 8th of October 2944 T.A.**

Galion, for the first time in his long, long life, had a home of his very own. The fact that it came with a rugged, devastatingly beautiful husband only added to his bliss. 

They had moved into Rôg’s house over a month ago, but only after Hilda insisted upon getting it ready.

“My lands, will you look at this place?” she sighed, as she ran her finger over the mantlepiece. “Well, don’t you worry, love; we’ll get it whipped into shape soon enough, and it will be fit for a King.” Hilda patted Rôgon on the cheek. “I know you’re used to living on your own, but now you’ve got a husband, and we’re going to make this a real sanctuary for the both of you. Trust me; when we’re done, you’ll love it.”

“Did you see that fiendish gleam in her eye?” Rôg asked him, after she left. 

“She lives for things like this.” Galion laughed. “But I trust her judgement.”

The next day, she showed up with Greta, and they followed her around the house, while he told her of his plans to furnish, and Greta made notes on supplies needed. Two days before their ceremony in the Garden, Hilda arrived with an army of volunteers from Dale bearing brooms, buckets and brushes and set everybody to work with a flourish.

It turned into a real party, Dale-style. Rod and Catrina showed up with drinks and food. The Baker and his wife brought pastries and cookies, and Adila didn’t come, but sent over some hot tea and coffee, and a note wishing them well. 2 The Ladies Institute of Dale came bearing gifts, too; flour, sugar, spices, canned goods, and such to fill their pantry to bursting.

On the morning after the Wedding Feast, the house gleamed and shone and was ready to receive the furniture that had arrived from the Palace, and once again, everyone pitched in.

Hilda directed traffic as Rod, Llewelyn, Chief Constable Tom and his sons, carried in the furniture with Bard and Thranduil’s help.

“You owe me,” Bard joked, as he and the Elvenking carried in the new couch. 

The single cot upstairs was replaced with a huge bed and a thick mattress, stacks of clean linens were in the airing cupboards, new linen towels were placed in the privy upstairs, as well as the downstairs bath, and the old, smaller tub was taken out, to make room for one big enough for two! The kitchen stove and ovens had been scrubbed, and Rôgon’s four mismatched plates were supplanted by a complete set of crockery that would serve ten. The cutlery was a gift from the Palace Silversmiths, bearing their combined monograms, and the brand-new set of pots and pans were made by Rôgon himself.

The Sitting Room was no longer a mish-mosh of old, unmatched furnishings. Two overstuffed chairs and a comfortable couch were brought in and placed according to Hilda’s directions, complete with a low table _(“they call it a coffee table, love,”_ Hilda told Rôg. _“Adila said everyone uses them where she grew up!”_) and small lamps on the walls were installed, as well as on the end tables for late-night reading.

Rôgon’s only request was that the furniture be the same shade of blue as Galion’s apartment _(“It matches your eyes, Mîr,” _he said, one night in bed just a few days after they were married). Galion was so moved, that he arranged for entire house to be decorated to compliment his husband’s new favorite color: the dishes, the dining chairs the linens and even the napkins and tablecloth were color-coordinated.

The newlyweds were still working to fit into their new lifestyle; Rôgon spent long days in the forge out back, and didn’t always remember to pick up after himself and clean the tub when he was done bathing. Galion had to point out the laundry basket in their room three times, to remind him that his clothes go _there,_ and not in a heap on the floor. 

“I am sorry, _Meleth nîn_,” he kissed Galion on the nose. “I promise to try harder.” 

And he did, though he wasn’t always perfect. They were so much in love that even when Rôgon found a small pile of soiled leggings and tunics under the quilt on his side of the bed, he laughed good-naturedly, and put them where they belonged.

Galion spent his days with the King and the Prince, as they tutored Legolas in the art of politics. He also worked with Hilda and Greta to ease away from his duties as personal servant and valet to the King. He would often be home before Rôg was done working, and was excited at the prospect of cooking delicious meals for his husband.

Of course, there were times when Rôgon would come through the back door after a long day at the forge, and his brown eyes would light up, at the sight of him. Rôg’s lop-sided grin made Galion weak at the knees, and more than once, the blacksmith was grabbed by his filthy tunic with a hard kiss, and he‘d wrap his legs around his waist and let the Rôg carry him into the bathing room, where they would tear each other’s clothes off and after some acrobatic sex, fall into the tub together to clean off.

The first few times, they laughed at the burnt food and the ruined tea kettle, then walked arm-in-arm to the Long Lake Tavern for dinner. But Rôg simply couldn’t be making a steady stream of cooking pans for his own house, so if they were feeling amorous, they made sure things were moved over to the sideboard.

But after a while, it was apparent that ruined meals couldn’t always be blamed on their overeager sex drive. Galion was forced to admit he was just a terrible cook. His first attempts at a cake was burnt on the outside and a gooey mess on the inside. Rôgon was sweet, and ate a piece anyway, and made sure to only pick the hard bits of charcoal out of his teeth when Galion wasn’t looking. His soups and stews were a bit tougher to ignore; they were either too bland, too spicy, or too bitter. 

“It is all right, my sweet,” he shook his head, and pushed his bowl away. “I am not very hungry this evening.” 

“You do not mean it,” Galion said, near tears, “I am trying so hard; how could I make a mess of a salad? A salad?”

“Well, how much oil did you use with the vinegar?”

The Aide blinked. “Oil?”

Rôgon picked up his napkin and covered his mouth, as his shoulders shook.

“Are you all right? Did I poison you?” Galion pounded him on the back.

“Come, _Mîr; _let us go to the Tavern.” He laughed, as stood and brought the Aide to his feet.

“We cannot keep going there, Rôg! I want us to spend quiet evenings together in our home, but I cannot when the food is dreadful!” Galion buried his face in his hands. “Neither one of us has had the chance to dust or clean, and now our house looks dingy, and I am so sorry about ruining your leggings in the laundry; I did not know that if you put wool in hot water, it will shrink like that!”

Rôgon gathered him up and kissed his cheek. “I have an idea, _Meleth nîn_: Instead of going to the Tavern, why do we not go to the Castle, and see if Cook or one of the kitchen maids can feed us? Then we can speak to Hilda and Greta about helping us hire someone to come in and help us? He or she could take care of the laundry and the cleaning, as well as fix us our dinner? We can easily afford it.”

“I…think I would like that,” Galion admitted, then groaned in frustration. “I do not understand why I cannot organize all this!”

“After all the wondrous things you have accomplished in your life, why are you letting this make you feel like a failure?” Rôg, took his hand. _“Mîr nîn,_ you and I work long hours at jobs we love, jobs we are successful at; I do not care who does the housework! All I care about is that when my husband has time off in the evenings, he is relaxed and happy.” 

“You are right,” Galion’s shoulders began to lose their tension. “There is no rule that says we have to do it ourselves.”

“No, there is not.” Rôg kissed his hand. “Come along.”

A week later, they hired the Baker’s daughter (and Enid’s granddaughter). Freya was a lovely girl in her early twenties, who was looking for some part-time work. She came in the afternoons during the week to clean, dust, take care of their laundry and mending, and prepare their dinner, before she went home to her new husband.

Rôg had just finished his latest order, and was about to set the last sword aside when his heart lurched, suddenly filled with terror. He gasped and clutched his chest, just as a blood-curdling scream came from inside the house. 

In an instant, the sword was haphazardly cast to the ground and he was up the steps to the back porch, and wrenched open the door.

“Galion! Where are you?” He rushed into the kitchen, to find his husband standing on top of the table, shaking like a leaf, and pale as a ghost.

“In there!” His hand shook as he pointed to the pantry door.

“An intruder?” Rôg glanced around quickly for a weapon, and grabbed the frying pan from its hook on the wall. “Did you see him?”

“Yes,” Galion hissed. “It was l-looking right at me!”

“Stay there!” The blacksmith raised the pan, silently crept to the pantry door and wrenched it open with a shout.

The bag of flour had been knocked from the shelf, its contents spilling out all over the floor. A jar of blackberry jam lay broken next to it, leaving a sticky mess.

But there was no one in there.

“There is no one in here,” he said.

“It is in there! I saw it!”

“Where?”

“On the second shelf, in front of the sugar,” Galion called to him in a tremulous voice.

“There is nothing here!” He moved the sack of sugar aside, then back…

“Do you see it?” 

Just then a rat ran over Rôg’s foot and with a startled shout, he jumped and smashed the frying pan onto the floor.

“Rôg? Are you all right?” 

“I am fine,” he called out to the kitchen,”it has been taken care of, _Mîr nîn.”_

After climbing down off the table, Galion cautiously approached. “What was it?”

Rôg lifted the pan, to look at the rat.

Which turned out _not _to be a giant, hairy beast with blood dripping from it’s gaping maw, but a simple, small mouse. A dead mouse.

“Oh, no!” Galion was horrified, and skewered him with a look. “I did not want you to kill it!”

“Well, you were screaming! You frightened me half to death!”

“Well _I _was frightened! It startled me!” the Aide’s eyes filled with tears. “And you murdered it.”

The next day, Galion came home from work carrying a basket.

“Did Cook send some of his bread home with you_?” _He asked hopefully.

“He sent something,” his husband grinned, and set it down on the floor.

“What is it?”

Galion opened the latch, and out jumped a black cat with four white paws.

“It’s a cat,” he said.

“Very observant.”

“I prefer dogs.”

“Dogs do not catch mice. He will.”

“Fine,” Rôgon rolled his eyes. “But he has to earn his keep, or he goes, is that clear?”

Whatever his original name was, Rôgon changed it to _“Lorda,”_ because not only was he lazy, he quickly took possession of Rôg’s favorite chair, and spent most of the day sleeping on his back, twisted like a crescent moon with his front paws splayed over his head. 

“Why _my_ chair?” Rôgon muttered one evening, as he picked the big cat up and dumped him in his husband’s lap. “Yours is just as comfortable.”

“He likes it.” 

“He could like _your_ chair just as much. Let him go over to you.”

“A cat chooses his owner.”

“Well, this owner does _not_ choose this cat. And he does not even work that hard.”

_Lorda_ enjoyed following Rôg outside and watching him work. He either observed him from on top of the woodpile, or curl up in a ball in front of the stone wall. On one occasion, a mouse ran across the yard in front of him, and the cat opened an eye and watched his progress, and gave Rôg a look that said, “Well? Aren’t you going to get that?”

He shook his head and went back to work.

On the rare occasion when Lorda actually caught mice, he didn’t bother to make sure they were dead, and Galion chased Rôg, who chased the cat, who was chasing the injured mouse as it left a zigzagged trail of blood across the floor. 

“It still falls to me to kill them, Galion; why do we keep him?” Rôgon groaned.

“Because people who have homes have pets,” Galion said patiently, as he scrubbed the bloodstains off the floor. “We are too busy to care for a dog; cats are independent.”

“I disagree; _Lorda_ _depends_ upon us to feed him, while he spends his days lazing about and getting cat hair all over my chair! He also _depends_ on us – namely me - to finish the job he starts with the vermin, which causes us both more work than if I would have just taken care of them in the first place! And the bloodstain on our brand-new Sitting Room rug has not come out! You are the one who wants him, but he constantly pesters _me!”_

“He likes you,” Galion said smoothly. “_Vuin_ _nîn,_ think of him as the child we could never have together.”

“He is not a child,” Rôgon said crossly. “Or if he is, he is an impudent, disrespectful, impertinent…” he growled. “An Elfling would not behave like this!”

“Ah, but he would not be half so interesting,” Galion finished up with the kitchen floor, and after he dumped out the water and put the bucket and brush back under the sink, he took his Blacksmith in his arms, and kissed away Rôg’s irritation.

“Fine,” Rôgon rolled his eyes. “But I will not allow him in our bedroom, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Galion nuzzled his neck. 

That didn’t really work either. They closed their bedroom door at night, but if _Lorda_ found himself on the outside, he would stand up on his hind legs and pound the door with his front paws and yowl until Galion couldn’t stand it anymore and let him in.

“Fine,” Rôg rolled his eyes, as _Lorda_ curled up on his chest and began to purr. “But if he tries to bite my toes again, out he goes, is that clear?”

“Absolutely.” Galion kissed his way up Rôg’s arm, to his shoulder, then sucked on the tip of his ear.

And so, _Lorda_ wormed his way into their lives, whether the blacksmith liked it or not. The black cat liked to sit on the back of his chair and bat at his hair, so when a length of red yarn mysteriously appeared beside his book on the side table, Rôgon began to absent-mindedly dangle it with one hand, while holding his book with another.

“Just so I can read in peace, he said. “Nothing more.”

“Of course,” Galion’s mouth twitched.

When a basket full of small, knitted shapes appeared on the floor beside the couch, Rôgon raised his eyebrows. “And what are those?”

“Oh, these are toys Sigrid made for _Lorda_.” He grinned. “Are they not adorable?”

“Why?”

“They are stuffed with catnip. He will like them.”

Rôg picked up one of the toys knitted into the shape of a mouse. “I would much rather he practice on real mice, _Mîr nîn_. Is that not why you brought him home in the first place?”

“Think of it this way,” Galion smiled. “If he is busy playing with these toys, he will not pester you.”

“Fine,” Rôgon sighed. “But as long as the toys are picked up at night.”

“Naturally.”

_When Lorda_ became intoxicated on the catnip and rolled drunkenly around on the Sitting Room rug, Galion clapped his hands with delight and said, “What a clever boy you are!” He picked up the cat and snuggled him. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

“Hmmm.” Rôgon quirked his brows and went back to his book. “He acts like he’s been smoking Longbottom Leaf.”

Galion began to make a habit of stopping by the market on the way home, to pick up a tidbit of meat or fish for _Lorda_.

“Just a little treat.” He knelt on the floor and stroked his sleek fur, as he ate.

“If you feed him too much, he will not catch mice.” Rôgon crossed his arms. “Not that he catches mice.”

“Does _Ada_ want our kitty to starve?” Galion crooned. “He is terribly mean, is he not?”

“You are spoiling him, _Mîr_.”

“And why not? _Lorda _is my very first pet.”

“You have never had one?”

Galion shook his head, and blinked up at him with eyes of sapphire. “The pets always belonged to the family, but not to me.”

Rôgon sighed, knelt beside him and stroked his cheek. “Does he make you happy?”

“He does, I promise.”

Which was true. 

Until the night, _Lorda_ pushed even Galion to the limit of his patience.

**29th of October 2944 T.A.**

They had just returned from dinner with the Royal family, and after enjoying a cup of tea in the kitchen, Galion came up behind him and nuzzled the back of his neck as he washed up the dishes. 

The nuzzling turned into kisses, which turned into some delightful groping, that led to moaning and heavy breathing, which resulted in the couple racing up the stairs and falling into their bed with delight. 

“I love you,” Galion whispered into his mouth, as he reached for the ties on Rôg’s leggings. “I want that big cock in me.” He plunged his hands into his husband’s smalls and squeezed him, making Rôg gasp. _“Puitho nin,_ _Meleth nîn!_”

_“Aníron gi phuithad,”_ Rôgon moaned, as he yanked Galion’s tunic over his head. “I want to make you scream!” Then he quickly undid the leggings and pulled them off, grinning at the smooth, soft skin and graceful body of his treasure.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, as he leaned down to bite one of his nipples, and when Galion gasped and sunk his hands into Rôg’s hair and begged him not to stop, the rush of blood to his groin made him even harder.

With a sigh, he tore himself away, and grabbed the oil. When he plunged two fingers into Galion’s opening, his husband threw his head back with a cry, which soon turned to groans, when Rôg teased his prostate, while he took his hard, pink cock in his mouth.

“Make me scream…” Galion begged, as he stroked Rôg’s cock. “I need you inside of me, _Meleth._ Fuck me hard and make me scream…”

With a roar, Rôgon sat up, and rolled Galion on his stomach, lifting up his hips. The Aide bent and spread his legs and pushed against him. “I want you so much…”

Rôgon lubricated his hard, throbbing member, and slowly pushed inside his husband, wanting the pleasure to last. Both Elves threw their heads back, mouths hanging open, blinded with pure lust. He ran his hand over the creamy smoothness of Galion’s back, then grabbed his hips and began to fuck his husband in short, rapid thrusts.

“Harder! More! Please!”

And oh, he did. He was slamming into his beloved, as Galion had both hands on the bed, tossing his black hair in ecstasy, begging for more… always for more….

“Yes!” he moaned. “Yes, that is it! Scream for me, _Mîr nîn_.”

To Rôgon’s great delight, Galion did just that, suddenly twisting underneath him, crying, “Rôgon! Rôgon!”

“I love it when you call out my name,” Rôgon gasped. “Yes! Yes!”

“No! NO! Ahhhhhh! STOP! Please!” Galion lifted one hand and reached for his crotch. _“NAEG! We have to stop!” _He fell onto his side, taking a surprised Rôgon with him. With a strangled yelp. the Blacksmith landed behind him.

“Galion! You could have broken my... What is the matter?” he croaked.

Just then, a black figure shot out from underneath his husband’s body, and, with a loud hiss and a howl, _Lorda_ was off the bed and out the bedroom door like a flash.

Galion, who only seconds before was writhing and screaming in the passion of their coupling, now writhed and screamed in pain. “He bit me! That stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing cat BIT ME! I am going to kill him! I will find him and tear his fucking head off!”

Rôg carefully pulled out of his husband, and rolled him onto his back. Galion shrieked as he clutched his crotch, and blood seeped through his long, slender fingers.

“Let me see, _Vuin.”_ He winced in sympathy, as Galion gritted his teeth and continued his litany of curses onto their erstwhile pet. Rôgon grabbed one of the small towels they always kept in the bedside drawer.

“You have to move your fingers, _Meleth nîn_. I really do need to see, and to clean the wound.” Rôgon slowly pried his fingers loose and, after dipping the end of the towel in the glass of water by their bed, he tried to wipe away the excess blood.

“Did he bite it off?” his husband whimpered. 

“No, but there is a significant scratch that needs immediate attention. Here,” he folded another towel and placed it over Galion’s bleeding member, wiped his hands and got up to pull on his leggings.

“What are you doing?” Galion whined. “You are not leaving me?”

“That must be healed immediately.”

“No!”

“Galion, Ermon is the soul of discretion—”

“ERMON?” the Aide sat up with a yelp. “_NAEG!”_ he grabbed at his crotch again. “Please do not get anyone; it would be too humiliating…” Tears ran down his face. “Oh, this is terrible!” He sobbed. “That... that... animal has ruined my life! I hate him!”

Rôgon pulled on his tunic, kneeled on the bed and kissed him. “Please, do not cry, _Meleth nîn_. I will get this taken care of and you will be as good as new. And I will make sure Ermon keeps this to himself. No one else will know; I promise.”

Now Galion was really crying. “Why would _Lorda_ do that? _I am_ the one who loves him!”

“I do not think it was personal.” Rôg stroked his hair. “We forgot to shut the bedroom door, and, well, your _Gwîb_ was bouncing around down there, and... maybe he thought it was...”

“So, _now, _he decides to get to work? That lazy, fat, good-for-nothing PARASITE is out, do you hear me? You can throw him in the river, for all I care!”

“Let us just get you taken care of, first.” He kissed him. “I will be back soon and once it’s done, we can forget this ever happened, yes?”

“I cannot,” Galion wailed. “I’ve got blood all over our new sheets!”

“Then we will burn them, and buy new ones.”

“But could we not just let it heal on its own?” he sniffled hopefully.

“How? You could not wear leggings, in that condition.” Rôgon lifted his brows and tilted his head. “And how long do you think it will be before we can make love, again?”

“_Ai, gorgor!” _Galion’s face crumpled again. “I hate that cat, and I never want to see him again!”

_“You_ brought him home, as I recall.” 

“You want to throw that in my face, _now?”_ His cheeks were wet with tears of anger and pain. “That is just plain cruel!”

“I am sorry,” Rôgon wiped the sweat off Galion’s face and kissed his brow. “I will be right back.”

Thankfully Ermon’s house was not far, and when he knocked the Chief Healer opened the door. “Good evening Rôg! What brings you here at this hour; we were just about to go upstairs.” His eyes narrowed as he studied the haggard look on the blacksmith’s face. Has something happened?” he asked the blacksmith.

“Galion has had a… mishap, and you must come right away.”

“Then you should take him to the Healing house.”

“I cannot. It is rather…” Rôgon squirmed, _“personal... _Please come; please?”

“Let me grab my bag, and you can explain on the way.”

When Rôg told him, Ermon stopped and stared at him, wide-eyed. “You are joking, no? You mean the cat thought…”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Any other time, he is fat and lazy and barely lifts a whisker, but for some reason he thought my husband’s _Gwîb_ was some sort of…”

“Mouse?” The Healer’s mouth curved upwards.

“Rat,” Rôg said indignantly. “A _large_ one, with a _long_ tail.”

Summoning every once of self-control he could muster, Ermon managed to keep a straight face as he tended to his patient, but after ordering him to rest for a couple of days and wear nothing but a loose robe, the Healer made a quick exit. Rôg could hear him laughing all the way down the street.

Later, when they were drifting off to sleep, Rôgon wrapped his arms protectively around his beloved. “Tomorrow, I will take _Lorda _to the Castle and give him back to Cook.”

“_Rôg!!” _Galion gasped. “You cannot do that; he loves us! How could you _think_ of such a thing?”

“No reason.” He rolled his eyes, and kissed him good night. “I love you.”

When he came in the house for lunch the next day, _Lorda_ was curled up on Galion’s chest, and they were both fast asleep.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ae ma_… - Oh, yes…

_Aníron gi phuithad – _I want to fuck you

_Gwîb_ – Penis 

_Lorda_ – (Q.) Lazy

_Mellneth_ – Young friend

_Puitho nin,_ _Meleth nîn! – _Fuck me, my love!

**NOTES:**

[1] _And Winter Came…_, Ch. 7: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/27875265>

[2] No one minded that Adila didn’t come – her husband had been murdered there in the forge last year, when Dale was attacked). _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 36: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37243763>


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Galion recovers from his unfortunate, er… accident, we will backtrack a bit and see how Evvy is doing at the Palace, and find out what’s going on with Rhian and Daeron...
> 
> It's not good.

_“The more I know, the less I understand,_

_“All the things I thought I’d figured out, I have to learn again,_

_I've been tryin' to get down_

_To the heart of the matter,_

_But my will gets weak_

_And my thoughts seem to scatter,_

_But I think it's about forgiveness_

_Forgiveness_

_Even if, even if you don't love me anymore…”_

** _ The Heart of the Matter  _ ** _ by** Don Henley** _

**The Woodland Realm, 11th October 2944 T.A.**

“Good morning, Evranin!” Saeros was waiting outside the door of her apartment. 

“Hello,” she said, trying to hide her surprise. “Can I help you?”

“Not at all; I was in this area of the Palace and thought I would escort you to work.”

“That is nice of you. I imagine it is good to get out of the lower levels once in a while.”

“We are underground,” the _Ellon_ grinned. “It makes no difference one way or another, yes?”

Evvy couldn’t help but laugh. “That is true. I am used to living high in the trees; I sometimes forget.”

“Do you miss the trees?”

“Of course; it is my home, though I am pleasantly surprised to find how much I like it here. The people are friendly, and I enjoy my work.”

“How goes the inventory?” he asked, as they walked along the passageway. 

“We are almost finished, as a matter of fact. Then I must meet with Lord Bard soon, to go over my recommendations for the Dale library and I will give you a list of books to print shortly after that.”

“Wonderful,” he held his hands behind his back, as they walked. “I am anxious to get started. I understand you will also be asking us to print more schoolbooks?”

“Yes; I will be meeting with the School Warden, as well.”

“Are they coming here?”

“No; Mistress Bronwyn cannot leave Dale in the middle of the school year. I have heard there is a building set aside for the Library, and I must go over the design with the City Planner.”

“Is that important?”

“Oh, yes! The lighting must be bright, but not so that the sun shines directly on the shelves; it will age the books prematurely, and they could become brittle. And the storage areas must be cool and completely dry. Books are extremely heavy, so I must make sure the floors have thick, hardwood flooring, and be well-reinforced. The ceilings must be high enough to accommodate the shelves, and it must be big enough to house not only the books, but all the tables one needs as well.”

“I had no idea,” he shook his head. “Of course, most people do not know what printing a book involves.”

“Oh, I do!” Evvy’s eyes were earnest. “I have a great deal of respect for a printer’s attention to detail, and the patience it takes to make a good quality book! It is quite a complicated process, is it not.”

“It is,” Saeros nodded. “But I enjoy it.”

Just then a small crowd of children overtook them on their way to daily classes.

“Hi, Evvy!” “Good morning, Evvy!” “We’ll see you this afternoon!” Their chatter echoed off the cavern walls, as they rushed by with their papers.

_“Ai,_ the noise!” Saeros scowled. _“Elven_ children do not behave in such ways.”

“That is because they are _not_ Elven children,” she laughed. “I enjoy their company,” she smiled. “They come into the West Library twice a week, and Gwindor has allowed me to choose the books for Story Time. I adore it when they gather on the floor around me as I read to them.” 

She became thoughtful. “When Daeron came to stay in Lothlórien, he told me of the many orphans left after the Battle that first winter, and how thin and sickly they all were…” she shook her head. “_Ai, _how sad that must have been for them! To lose their home, and so many family members…” Evvy gazed ahead at the group of children, who were being ushered into their classroom, by a smiling, dark-haired _Elleth_. “They seem happy, now.”

“And noisy.” He smirked then said, “Forgive me; so much has changed here; it is difficult to keep up, at times.”

“I suppose it does take some getting used to,” she admitted. “But I will never forget when some of the nearby villages that hit with a plague. I went with Orlin a few times to help...” Evvy shuddered. “Oh, Saeros, it was just so sad; children should never have to suffer like that,” she swallowed. “Daeron found something in one of Lord Elrond’s books to help prevent further outbreaks, but it was too late for too many…”

“You should not have gone!” Saeros’s eyes widened. “Why did your brother make you do this?”

“I volunteered; I _wanted_ to help!” she stopped and stared at him. “Have you no compassion for those who suffer? Do you not understand what King Thranduil is trying to accomplish? All the Elven lands must strengthen our Alliances with the other Free Peoples if we are to triumph in the end! I do not understand you, Saeros; do you not pay attention to the scrolls you copy, to the books you print?”

“What I understand is that by the time the trouble starts, I will be well on my way to the Havens,” he said, calmly. “As you should be. This is not our fight.”

“You make me sad, _Mellon_,” her lips turned downward. “I have learned much in the past two years, and I may be just a Scribe, a librarian, but if a war comes, I _will_ be here to support my friends!”

“And I suppose Daeron and Turamarth are included in your circle of friends?”

She blinked at his vehemence. “As a matter of fact, yes. I will be helping Daeron with his book soon, and his wife—”

“His _human_ wife,” Saeros pointed out.

“What is that to you if she is?” Evvy shoulders lifted and fell in a huge sigh. “I do not know what to say to you, Saeros; clearly you have opinions I do not share, and I think…” she swallowed, “I think I will bid you good day.”

She turned to walk away, but he touched her upper arm. “Evvy, I am sorry to make you angry.”

“I am not angry; I am disappointed. I am grateful for your kindness, and I would like to think we are friends, but I do not understand your prejudice.”

“Forgive me,” he smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes, I… find it difficult to adjust to new things, to make new friends.”

“You are simply shy, like me.” She said kindly. “I have never been one to jump into things, either; it takes a lot of effort for people like us to feel comfortable with new situations. Still that is no reason to become rigid. You are only hurting yourself, if you do not try, and I truly hope you change your mind about this.”

“Perhaps you could reform me?”

The corners of her mouth slowly lifted. “Perhaps I should. Have a good day, Saeros.”

She left him on the walkway and headed toward the Main Library, but when she stopped and looked back, he was still there, staring at her with intense eyes. 

Did Saeros bear some sort of personal grudge against Daeron or Turamarth?

Well, she thought, if he does, it is no concern of hers. With another smile and a quick wave, she went to report for duty.

***************

**City of Dale, 25th of October 2944 T.A.**

> _“Mama!” Darryn screamed, only it wasn’t Darryn. It was an old man with grey hair and bright blue eyes, yet had the juvenile voice she knew to be her child. “Help me! Where are you?”_
> 
> _He was in the middle of a field, and a man had grabbed him by his hair. Before she could react, he smashed his fist into Darryn’s face, and turned to face her with an evil grin._
> 
> _It was Garth._
> 
> _“No! Leave him alone you bastard!” Rhian tried to run to her son, but something was holding her back…_
> 
> _But her former husband just laughed. “Listen, bitch; he is my son, and I’ll do any fucking thing I want to him.”_
> 
> _Darryn struggled in his grip, but was too old and feeble to fight him off. “Help me, Mama! Who is this man?”_
> 
> _“Shut the fuck up!” he punched her son again. “I’m your real Da, and it’s about time someone made a real man out of you!”_
> 
> _“You are not my father!” Darryn said in an unnaturally young voice, as blood streamed from his nose and mouth._
> 
> _“What, you think that namby-pamby Elf she married could take my place?”_
> 
> _“Garth, leave him alone! You’re hurting him!”_
> 
> _“And I wouldn’t have to if you’d been a halfway decent wife, you worthless piece of shit! This is all your fault,” he screamed at her as he pointed an accusing finger. “You’re nothing! You’re a murderer and I hope you burn in Mordor for what you’ve done to me!”_
> 
> _Rhian struggled frantically to get to her son. “You didn’t deserve to live! You beat me, and hurt me—”_
> 
> _“Whose fault was that, huh? If you’d been any kind of a wife, I wouldn’t have had to straighten you out,” he sneered._
> 
> _“Then take me,” she begged as she tried to push forward against this invisible barrier. “It’s me you want to punish, just let him go and—”_
> 
> _“Not a chance,” his face twisted into an evil grin. “This is what you get for abandoning me to die in that fire. A life for a life, Rhian. Your son is going to pay for your sins.” Garth leaned down and said to Darryn. “Maybe I should teach you to behave like I did your mother, aye? Oh, did I love to make her scream and beg underneath me, didn’t I? I’ll take you right up your ass—"_
> 
> _“Oh, gods…” she wailed helplessly. “Oh, Valar, please don’t; please!”_
> 
> _But she was being dragged backwards._
> 
> _“Let me go! You have to let me go!” she looked down to see strong arms around her waist. _
> 
> _It was Daeron, holding her tight. “We do not belong here, Hind Calen. We need to go.”_
> 
> _“What is the matter with you?” she screamed and kicked at him. “He’s hurting my son! Let me go!”_
> 
> _“Rhian…”_
> 
> _“No! Let me go!”_
> 
> _“Rhian, Hind Calen…”_
> 
> _“Please!”_
> 
> _“RHIAN!”_

Rhian woke with a gasp, to find Daeron leaning over her, shaking her shoulders.

“_Hind Calen_, you were having a nightmare, again.” He said with concern in his eyes, as he stroked her cheek. “Do you know where you are?”

“But…” she breathed. “What happened?”

“You were thrashing around,” he said, in a soothing voice. “You are safe, in our home, and it is night. All is well.”

“Oh,” she blinked awake. “Did I shout?”

“I am afraid so,” his eyes were full of concern. “Rhian, I—”

But the sound of Darryn’s cries interrupted them.

“I will get him and bring him in to you,” he folded back the blankets. 

“No; you get back to sleep. I’ll get him.” She got up and pulled on her thick green robe and slippers.

“I do not mind, _Hind Calen_,” Daeron told her. “Truly.”

“Oh, I know,” her voice was still shaking. “But you have a long day tomorrow…”

“As do you; are you not working at the Castle?”

“It’s fine, Daeron!” she snapped, then closed her eyes with a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry; just let me take care of my son, all right?”

And she fled.

“Hey little man,” she crooned, as she walked into his room. “What’s got you awake?”

Darryn was sitting up in his bed, his breath coming in short hiccups. “Mama crying?”

“No, baby.” She picked him up and sat on the rocking chair. “Mama’s all right.”

Darryn sat up and put his hand on her cheek. “You wost your smile.” He smooshed her cheeks up, like he often did with Tur. 

Her eyes filled with tears and she forced a grin. “You found it for me!” She hugged him tight and sunk into his warm sweetness.

The little boy leaned his head against her chest with a sigh, and Rhian closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet smell of his dark curly hair. “I love you, Darryn.”

“Wuv you too, Mama.” he said with a yawn.

She started rocking as she softly sang his favorite lullaby, and they both eventually settled down. She gently rose and tucked him back into bed with a kiss on his brow, before returning to her room.

The lamp was still on, and Daeron was sitting up, waiting for her.

“We cannot go on like this, Rhian. I know you are unhappy with the news Lord Elrond gave us, and I have tried to be patient and give you as much space as you needed…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Do not be sorry! Just… talk to me, please! You toss and turn with dreams and I know all this has brought back pain from your past,” he put his hand on his chest. “We are _joined,_ _Hind Calen_; we are married! I can _feel_ your anxiety and it kills me that you are shutting me out! I am torn up inside,” Daeron rubbed his hand over his jaw, and closed his eyes. “I know the news was not what we were expecting, but why will you not let us face it together?”

“I don’t know why it’s so hard.” She struggled for words. “But I…”

“Can you at least tell me what you have been dreaming about?”

Suddenly the air left her body, and her chest felt like it was trapped in a vice, as her stomach churned. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out, and her breaths came in short, choppy gasps.

Instantly Daeron was across the room, and had his hand on her shoulders. “Breathe, _Meleth nîn_. Look at me…”

Once her panic attack had passed, he grabbed his robe and put it on. “I am taking you downstairs.”

He didn’t give her a choice, but firmly steered her down the steps, through the Sitting room and took her into the kitchen.

“Sit here, while I make us some tea,” he pulled over the kitchen stool and sat her down. “Then we are going to talk.”

***************

Once the tea was done, he carried the tray into the Dining room and sat them both down at the table and poured her a cup.

“Eat, please; you have no appetite these days.” He pushed the plate of butter cookies at her.

“I can’t right now,” she swallowed, as tears rolled down her face. “I’m so sorry, Daeron. I know I’ve been horrible to you, and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Ai, _Meleth nîn_,” he quickly got up and took the chair beside her. “Please, do not cry. Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she shook her head and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry; I should be stronger than this, but—”

“No, Rhian,” he stroked her hair. “You do not have to be anything you are not, but I am here. Let me help you.” He lifted her chin to look up into his eyes. “Tell me what you are frightened of; what are you dreaming about?”

“I see Darryn, after he passes on,” she closed her eyes tight.

“Lord Elrond says he will live a good life to a ripe old age, and have a peaceful death.”

“Yes, but what happens next? He’ll be all alone, and I see him waking up in this field with flowers, and he… isn’t safe anymore. Garth is there and he hits Darryn, like he used to hit me…” she sobbed. “He called me a murderer and… I try to help… but I can’t.”

“_Ai, gorgor_…” Daeron’s eyes filled with sympathy. “That must have been horrible, but it is just a dream; it is not real.”

“What if it will be? I’m his mother, Daeron; I let Garth die that night, and now… I won’t be there to protect him, and neither will you!”

“Rhian,” Daeron’s eyes narrowed. “When we first married, we thought we were blessed with a long life; Darryn was always going to leave us much sooner. What is different now?”

“I guess… I never thought about it, until Elrond said…” 

“Where is your faith, _Hind Calen?_ Do you honestly think _Eru_ would allow such abuse in the afterlife like this?”

“Why not?” she wiped her eyes angrily. “He allowed me to be abused, and beaten and raped in _this_ one! And from what you tell me, Miriam and Sellwen didn’t have it much better! If he—”

“No, my love, that is not the fault of _Eru_ or the Valar. The blame is Roald’s; the blame belongs to Phylip and to Garth. No one made them behave that way.”

“But he didn’t stop them, either, did he? Why was I not worth protecting? Why?”

“_Eru_ does not make things happen, _Hind Calen_; _people do,_ through neglect and fear and ignorance. It is a sad, unfair thing, and I wish with all my heart it was different. All we can do is our best, and try to learn from all of that. The Valar has a purpose for us, and we must trust them.”

“How can I believe that?” her voice full of resentment. “I’m supposed to be some… reincarnation of this person who lived a miserable life in the first age, then twice in the third age I get stuck with monsters for parents! Lucky me!” she threw her hands up in the air. “If no one can tell me for sure that my little boy will be safe, then I should be there! _I have_ to be there! I’m his mother, and _I abandoned him!”_

“You did no such thing; I believe with all my heart that Darryn will be safe and well, both in this life and the next.” 

Daeron tried to put his arm around her, but she shook him off.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “Just… don’t.”

It was as if an arrow had been shot in his heart. “What have I done?” he demanded, hurt. “You cannot stand for me to touch you, we have not had sex in eight weeks, and you tense up whenever I am with Darryn! What else do I have to do to prove to you that _I am not_ like Phylip, that I am not like Garth?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. 

“Tell me you are not serious, Rhian,” his heart clenched with frustration. “Tell me that, even if you have as little faith in _Eru_ as you think, that you at least believe in _me!_ That you still believe in _us!”_

“You don’t understand, Daeron!” she cried. _“I_ am his mother! Darryn is _my_ flesh and blood, and you have no idea what it is like to…” she stopped herself and her eyes grew wide.

He froze, and said, slowly and deliberately, “What did you just say?”

“Oh, Daeron. I didn’t mean it like that.” She held her hands up.

“Yes, you did,” he told her quietly. “This is the crux of our problem, is it not? You have been walking around this house, around _our lives_ for the past two months, telling yourself you are the only one who can truly love that little boy upstairs! Do you seriously think that child is not my son too?” his voice became low with fury. _“How dare you!”_

“No,” she covered her mouth with horror. “I only meant—”

“Stop! Just stop!” A sad laugh escaped him, as he looked at the floor and shook his head. “All I have_ ever done _since the day I met you, was consider _your_ needs, and put them first. For almost _two years,_ I kept my feelings to myself, because I did not want to make things harder for _you!”_ He smacked his hand down on the table, and his eyes bored into her green ones, as the knots inside started to unravel.

“Do you know how I found out about the exchange program? King Thranduil saw the pain I was in, and offered me a chance to go! _He_ could see the pain I was in, _my family_ could see it, _my friends_ could see it, but I would not allow them to say anything to you for fear it would hurt _you!_

“And the night before I left, Rhian, you stood at the steps of the Great Hall and said horrible, cruel things to me, do you remember that? 1 Do you have any idea what that was like for me? Do you?” his voice rose. “You tore my insides to bits! To shreds! It would have hurt less if you had stabbed me!

“I will never forget the things you said; you accused me of not caring about you, about Darryn! When you accused me of pretending to be your friend, so I could play the hero,” he pounded his chest, “I stood there and took it, did I not? _You know I did!” _he shouted. “Did you also know that Lord Thranduil had to take me out into the woods and talk to me _all night long_, because I was so…” he struggled for words, as his vision blurred. 

“When you apologized, what did I do? Did I blame you, or berate you, or make you feel terrible about it?” Daeron’s mouth formed a grim line. “Answer me, Rhian. You owe me an answer!”

“You didn’t,” she whispered. “You were kind.”

“I accepted your apology, because I love you. I was patient, because I love you. I kept it all inside because I loved you enough to let you decide on your own how you felt about me! I wanted your love freely, or not at all.”

Daeron covered his eyes, as his throat began to hurt. “And I would have gone through it again, bore the pain gladly, because _that_ _is what it means to love someone, Rhian!”_

“But none of that agony compares to how you are tearing me apart this minute. What do you think I am, some sort of statue? Are you so used to _me_ being the one to… to bend, that you have decided I am somehow infallible? I promise you; _I am not! _

_“Not once_, since we met with Lord Elrond, did you ask me how _I felt!_ It did not even occur to you to wonder, did it? I gave you time, and patience and understanding. I did not pressure you, or force you, not even when you pulled away from me _in our bed!” _

He wiped his eyes quickly. “You have absolutely no idea what I have been thinking or feeling, because you did not care enough to find out! You are so used to me supporting you, taking me for granted! And worse, you have been treating me like I should be ashamed to be who I am, and I cannot, Rhian. _I will not! _

“Do you think that, if we had not wed, you could control what happens, that you could somehow guarantee that Darryn would be safe for every moment of his existence?”

“It’s just that I don’t know what will happen,” she sobbed. “It scares me, and sometimes I…” she shook her head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You must be joking, Rhian! _Hurt me?_ You are _destroying _me! I am not Garth, I am not Phylip, and I will no longer be punished for their mistakes! I cannot sit back and wait for you to come to your senses!” He turned and left the Dining Room and headed toward the stairs.

“Daeron—”

“No!” He whipped around, saw her rise from the table, and raised his hand to stop her. “No more! I am not willing to put my feelings aside anymore. I am tired, and hurt and angry and…” a tear rolled down his face. “I have never felt so alone in my life, can you understand that? To be joined with you, to feel your _Fëa_ in my breast, as you say that I do not know how you feel, or I could not love you enough, that I am not capable of loving Darryn enough, is more than I can bear.”

“I’m sorry,” she began. “Maybe—"

“Maybe what?” he rubbed away a tear with the heel of his hand. “Maybe it was a mistake for us to get married? Maybe I should have sailed West instead of coming back here last year?” He last words came out as a sob. “If that is true, then… Maybe you are right.”

He ignored her gasp, and silently took the stairs three at a time, and went into his room to get dressed. When he turned to leave, he opened the door to see Turamarth standing there, with a look of concern on his face.

“I heard.”

“_Gwador_, this has nothing to do with you, I hope you know that. I just—"

“I know.” Tur whispered, and opened his arms. “I know…”

Daeron found himself enveloped in a hard, warm hug, and he nearly broke down in tears. 

“Please: do not hate her. It would only make this worse.”

“I do not.” His cousin tightened his arms. “Where are you going?”

“I do not know; perhaps just a walk.”

“Do you want me to wait up?”

“No. You need your rest.”

“Do you want me to talk to Rhian?”

Daeron pulled back and wiped his eyes. “I love you for that, but I beg you not to. I… just please; stay out of it. Promise me, _Gwador_.”

Turamarth sighed and shook his head. “I promise. I would not know what to say, at any rate.”

“Thank you.” And he went downstairs and left the house, without looking back.

***************

“My Lord Thranduil?”

The Elvenking was awakened by the persistent knocking on their door. 

“What?” Bard sat up and wiped his eyes, as he looked at the water clock. “It is after two in the morning!”

More knocking. “I am sorry to disturb you, but we have a problem.” It was Ruvyn’s voice and he sounded worried.

“I will see what he wants, _Meleth nîn_.” Thranduil put on his black robe and walked over the thick carpets and opened the door. “What is wrong?”

“Rod from the Long Lake is downstairs, My Lord. He says he needs you to come; there is… a situation, and he is not sure how to proceed.”

“Tell him I will be down in five minutes. Who else is on duty now?”

“I am not on duty; he came to my apartment first. I will come with you.”

“Go down and wait with Rod, while I get dressed.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Thranduil went back into their bedchamber and grabbed some clothes and his cloak. Once dressed, he leaned over his sleepy husband.

“What happened?” the Bowman mumbled.

“There is something going on at the Tavern, and I am needed.”

“Oh, come on; can’t the Constable or one of your Elven guards take care of it?”

“Apparently not. Rod is here, and he woke up Ruvyn. I must see what is happening.”

Bard sat up. “Do you want me to come?”

“I do not think so.”

“Oh, is it an Elf thing?”

Thranduil grinned. “I certainly hope not.” He kissed Bard’s cheek. “I only want the Elf Thing with you. If I need you, I will send for you. Go back to sleep.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” Bard settled back against the pillows and pulled up his blanket. “Go be an Elf King.”

Rod was at the foot of the Grand Staircase, hat in hand. “Sorry to wake you, My Lord, but I think you’re going to want to handle this yourself.”

“What happened?” he asked, as he fastened his cloak.

“It’s Daeron,” the Tavern owner leaned in and whispered. “He’s drunker than I’ve ever seen, and in a right state. I don’t know what to do.”

“Daeron?” Ruvyn’s jaw dropped. “You could have told me, at the time Rod; I would have come and gotten—”

“Peace, Lieutenant,” Thranduil put his hand on the Elf’s shoulder. “I think I know what is bothering him.” To Rod he said, “You were right to come and get me. Is there anyone else there with him?”

“Just my employee, Jack, and only to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. We all think the world of that boy, My Lord, but there’s something not right.”

“Let us make haste, then.”

“Should another guard come with us?” Ruvyn asked.

“No. I think the less people involved, the better.”

The trio hurried across the courtyard and through the quiet Market, where the soft light of the Tavern windows beckoned. 

“He’s in the back,” Rod murmured, as they wove through the tables full of upturned chairs, to the small one tucked in a corner. Jack was standing worriedly over the auburn-haired Elf, whose head was buried in his arms.

“How much did he have to drink?” Thranduil asked quietly.

“He was throwing them back hand over fist, I’m sorry to say. We should’ve been keeping track, but to be honest, I’ve never had to worry about Daeron; he’s always been responsible. Then, when we tried to close up, he refused to leave, and… broke down.” Rod wrung his hands. “That’s why I thought you should come; he’s a grand lad, and I hate seeing him like this.”

“Thank you, Rod.” Thranduil took the chair beside the Guardian. “Daeron?” he gently shook his shoulder. “It is time to go home.”

“Mmmm…” he didn’t move.

“It is King Thranduil, and I am come to take you home.”

Instantly the Elf’s head went up, and bleary eyes blinked at him from a face that was ghostly white. “_Aran nîn_… Why are you here?”

“Your friends are worried for you.”

Daeron’s eyes searched his face. “Are you?”

“Very much. You look most unhappy, _Mellon_.”

The Guardians face crumpled. “I do not know what to do.”

“Let us get you up, yes?” He stood and grabbed one arm, while Ruvyn grabbed the other and hauled him to his feet. “They tell me you drank quite a bit, Daeron_,” _he said, as he picked the Elf up.

“Did I have a good time?” he murmured.

“I am told you did not.”

“Oh.” The Guardian’s head sank onto Thranduil’s shoulder. “I need to forget.”

“Forget?”

“How to feel things.”

The Elvenking stopped. “Are you all right, Daeron?”

“It does not matter anymore,” he whispered. “I wonder if it ever did.”

“It matters to me. It matters to a great many people.”

“I love her, My Lord.” Daeron said, softly.

“I know you love Rhian.”

“I love Darryn.” Daeron’s voice cracked, “He is my son!”

“I know that too.”

“But love is not enough, is it?” he sobbed. “Sometimes... it makes everything worse.”

“Perhaps when we get you home—”

“I cannot go home,” the Elf said, in a faraway tone. “She… I do not know if she wants it to be my home, anymore.” Daeron’s hand went to his chest. “I do not know if I feel her… I cannot feel her… it hurts, Thranduil. I am bleeding.”

Thranduil sighed. “Ruvyn, do you have an extra bed ready in your apartment?”

“I can have it done up in a minute or two.”

“Do that. Go on ahead and get Daeron’s old room made up. He will be staying with you, at least for tonight, perhaps longer.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Ruvyn eyed his colleague and friend. “He does not look well.”

“He is not, and it has little to do with his inebriated state. I expect your utter discretion, is that clear, Lieutenant?”

“Of course!” he promised.

“Good. I want extra blankets on the bed, get some warming bricks and make plenty of hot tea. Do you happen to have any _Athelas_ there?”

“There is always some with my kit.”

“Have a bowl of it in steaming water by his bed. We may be up all night.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The Guardian raced ahead.

By the time, Thranduil reached the apartment, Ruvyn had the door open and the bed waiting. He gently laid Daeron down on the bed, and together they pulled his boots off, and pulled the layers of blankets up to his chin. 

After checking his heart, his breathing, he lifted Daeron’s eyelids and sighed. His normally greenish-blue eyes had taken on a grey tone. Just like when he returned from Dale when Sellwen had died.

“It is as I feared; he is grieving.”

_“Ai, gorgor!”_ Ruvyn’s eyes bulged. “Surely not! He and Rhian just got married and…” his eyes met Thranduil’s with dread. “Are they…”

“I do not know the precise details, but it is no secret that Daeron has some extraordinary gifts.” He reminded Ruvyn. “To use those gifts well requires a sensitive nature, and sometimes…” he sighed. “Sometimes a person like him is especially vulnerable.”

“How can I help?”

“I hear the kettle. Go make us plenty of hot tea and come back in. I need to tell you some things, and we need to figure out a way to fix this, or I do not know what will happen.”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ai, gorgor_ – Oh, horrors

_Meleth nîn_ – my love

_Hind Calen_ – “Green eyes,” Daeron’s pet name for Rhian

**NOTES:**

[1] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 17: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/34480331>


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daeron wakes up to find the Elvenking sitting beside his bed.
> 
> So here's what happened...

_“Making love with you_

_Has left me peaceful warm and tired_

_What more could I ask_

_There's nothing left to be desired_

_Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak_

_So sleep, silent angel go to sleep_

_Sometimes all I need is the air that I breathe_

_And to love you_

_All I need is the air that I breathe_

_Yes, to love you_

_All I need is the air that I breathe…”_

** _ The Air That I Breathe,  _ ** _ by** The Hollies** _

**City of Dale, 28th of October 2944 T.A.**

Daeron groaned as he opened his eyes, then closed them again to shut out the light.

“How are you, Lieutenant?”

The voice was a deep, smooth baritone, one that centuries of training had conditioned him to obey.

“My Lord…” he struggled to waken, and sit up.

A firm hand pushed him back down. “Stay.” Thranduil’s tone was gentle. “Give yourself a moment or two.”

“What time is it?” Daeron murmured.

“It is nearly noon.”

His eyes flew open again. _“Ai, gorgor!_ I am late for work!”

“You are not going to work today, or for the next two weeks. Elladan and Elrohir have been covering your shifts at the Healing House and will continue to do so.” Thranduil’s left brow quirked. “You have been working so hard, it takes the both of them to keep up with your job!”

Daeron scrubbed his hand over his face as he became more aware of his surroundings. “This is my old room…” His gaze swept around to the light walls, and the curtains on the window to his left. “How came I to be here?”

“Ah, that we will discuss in a moment. What I need to tell you first, is that it is nearly noon on _Wednesday_, which is fortunate for you. Otherwise you would wake up to a torturous hangover.”

Oh…” Daeron stared up at Thranduil, until his words sunk in. _“Wednesday!” _he sputtered. “Should today not be Monday?”

“Not if you have been in a Healing Sleep for almost three days.”

“But…” His eyes bulged. “I… what happened?”

“Let us take care of the most urgent matters, first; are you well enough to sit up, yet?”

“I think so…”

Thranduil rose from his chair, and supported his back as he eased him up against the headboard. “You know how this works; get your bearings for a moment, then I will help you get to the privy.”

Daeron flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, My Lord, surely you have better things to do than—“

“Nonsense; you of all people should know that when one has been asleep for several days, it takes a while to find one’s feet.”

“Well, I do need to...”

“Then let us not waste time, Lieutenant.” The Elvenking hauled Daeron to his feet, and took him down the hall.

“I had a fight with Rhian,” he recalled, once he was settled back in bed, with a hot cup of strong tea. “I went to the Tavern…”

“And that is where we found you, and brought you here.” He placed a finger under Daeron’s chin, and studied his face. “Your eyes look much better; the dullness is gone, and they are back to their normal color.”

“Does Rhian know where I am?”

“She does. You will be happy to know she has been under Elénaril’s care these past few days, as well; including a deep sleep.”

“Is she all right?” Daeron’s eyes widened.

“‘Therein lies a tale,’ as they say. I have a great deal to tell you, _Mellon nîn…”_

***************

**26th of October 2944 T.A. Just after midnight**

After Daeron left the house, Tur checked on Darryn, to make sure he was still asleep, then went back to his room.

He’d expected to hear Rhian weeping, or at least her feet on the stairs, but all was quiet…. Too quiet.

After an hour, he became concerned, and tiptoed downstairs. “Rhian?”

She wasn’t in the Sitting Room, so he looked through the archway to the Dining Room, and saw her silhouette in the moonlight. She was as still as a statue.

Something was wrong.

“Rhian?” he called softly.

Nothing.

He stepped over to her. “Rhian? Are you well?”

She stared ahead with unseeing eyes. 

“Rhian, can you hear me?” He put his hand on her shoulder and shook it, but there was no response.

He felt her forehead, which was fine, but her hands were icy cold. 

_Ai, gorgor…_

“Come, Rhian; we will get you a bit more comfortable, and try to warm you up, yes?”

He pulled out her chair, picked her up and carried her to the couch and tucked the big blue afghan around her up to her chin. Rhian blinked and stared uncomprehendingly up at the ceiling.

Tur didn’t possess any sort of Healing gift, but Daeron had made sure he knew the basic skills and how to manage a mild sleeping spell. He squatted down to look into Rhian’s face. _“Gwathel_ _muil_, I will get you some help,” he whispered, as he stroked her brow, and sang softly until her eyes closed and her breathing was deep and even, then raced upstairs to get dressed. 

What if Darryn woke while he was gone?

He wrapped the sleeping toddler in blankets, carried him downstairs, and covered his face as they went out into the chilly October air.

The Castle was closest, so Turamarth cut through a neighbor’s back yard and rushed to the Courtyard, careful not to jostle the heavy bundle in his arms, but Darryn stirred and pulled the blanket off his head.

“Unca Tur?” He yawned. “‘s dark.”

“It is, _hênig.”_

“Where we goin’?’”

“We are going on an adventure,” he forced a light tone of voice. “Go back to sleep.”

“'mkay,” Darryn laid his head back down on his shoulder.

He raced up the steps to find Vildan and Cwën on duty. “I need to see King Thranduil.”

“He is not here,” Vildan eyed the sleeping child. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. I do not know where Daeron is, but his wife is in a state of deep shock, and she needs a Healer.”

The Vanguard opened the door, “Stay here Cwën; I will go and wake up Lord Bard.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Turamarth followed Vildan up the wide, carpeted stairs, careful not to jostle Darryn, and waited outside the Royal Bedchamber, until the King of Dale appeared, tying his green robe. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It is Rhian, My Lord. She needs help, and I could not leave the child alone…”

After a quick explanation of the night’s events, Bard sighed. “I’ll come. Tur, go wake up Tauriel so she can watch the baby, and get back to Rhian, and I will meet you there. Vildan go find Hannah, and see if she can get over there.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Tur carried Darryn to Tauriel’s door and knocked.

Her hair was mussed with sleep. “Tur? What are you doing here?”

“Shhh…” he put his fingers to his lips. “Rhian is unwell." he whispered. "Can you watch him? I will send over some of his things, later."

“Of course.” She held out her arms as Darryn stirred with a whine. “Let us get you back to sleep, _Pînig_, shall we? I shall sing to you; would you like that?”

“Thank you,” Tur mouthed, then took off.

*******************

**26th of October, Just after sunrise…**

Rhian woke up in a surreal stupor, her mind in such a whirl she couldn’t separate one thought from another. It had been like this for weeks, and she was exhausted to the marrow of her bones.

She sat up and stared around the living room, at down at the heavy blanket. Stars, everything hurt; what happened?

_Oh, no…_ She hunched over and grabbed her stomach as the memory of last night crashed into her like the waves on the Long Lake during a storm.

She had had another of those bizarre nightmares, and… Daeron had left her. 

He’d gotten fed up and walked out.

_You don’t deserve him, _the same niggling voice that had been haunting her thoughts for weeks, whispered. _He’s much to good for you… He doesn’t want you, he doesn’t want you he doesn’t want you hedoesntwantyouhedorsntwantyouhedoesntwantyou—_

Noises came from the kitchen, and Tur appeared with a cup of tea.

“You are awake I see,” he smiled. “Darryn is at Castle; and your father is helping the Bardlings look after him,” his voice was soothing. “Hannah and Lord Bard came, but she had to go to deliver a baby.” He tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “We need to make sure you do not get a chill, yes?”

Rhian blinked up at him, and struggled to find something to say, but nothing came out.

Tur sat beside her. “Elénaril and Lord Bard will be here very soon.”

She met his eyes, and forced her tongue to work. “Why?”

“Because, Rhian,” he sighed, “you are ill, and we are going to get you some help.”

“B-but Daeron…”

“We are taking care of him, as well. Now, we need to get some of this tea into you. Hannah put some herbs in it and it should help you feel a bit better.”

Her vision swam, as he pressed the mug into her hands, but they shook too badly to take it.

“Here; let me help you.” He placed his hands over her fingers and lifted it to her lips. “That is it…”

She drank it halfway down. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Daeron’s gone. I—“

“You do not have to explain anything, Rhian,” he said softly. “I know.”

“It’s my fault.” Rhian leaned against him and buried her face in her hands. “He’s better than me, and—“

“Shhh…” he rubbed her back as he held her. “Let us see what happens when Elénaril gets here, all right?”

A knock on the front door interrupted them, and Tur handed her a napkin to wipe her eyes. “I will get that. You keep warm and see if you cannot drink anymore of that tea for me, yes?”

He went to answer the door and soon returned with the Elven Healer, accompanied by Lord Bard.

“Good morning, Rhian,” Bard smiled gently, as he sat in one of the chairs. “You’ve had a rough night.”

“Hello,” she said weakly as her eyes filled, again. “I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”

“Never mind about that,” Elénaril sat down on the couch on the other side of her. “We are here to see if we can get you well, again.” 

“But I’m not sick,” Rhian said. “I _can’t_ get sick; Lord Elrond told us that, when he said I was… different.”

“Not from _physical_ disease,” the Elven Healer reminded her, “Elves are not spared from emotional problems. But do not blame yourselves; such things are insidious and often times go unnoticed until things get much worse. How do you feel, right this minute?”

“Tired,” she sighed.

“Can you describe it?”

“My body feels heavy, like I am walking through water. Everything feels like I am walking uphill.”

“Hmmm… Do you have racing thoughts?”

“Sometimes. Things run through my head faster than I can keep up, especially at night.”

“How is your concentration?”

“It’s hard to stay focused, but I’ve been doing what Hannah taught me; breathe slow, and relax.”

Elénaril’s eyes narrowed. “Does that help?”

“Yes, at first, but lately it feels like the only thing that calms me down is holding my son,” she laughed sheepishly as she wiped her nose. “Darryn’s getting tired of me carrying him around all the time.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“A while. I just keep thinking if I keep going, keep pushing, it will get better,” Rhian said, “like after Darryn was born: I had to force myself to do everything; to bathe and dress, to leave my rooms, even to talk with people, and it was hard, but I fought it, do you remember?” 1

“I do.” She leaned forward, pulled her lower lids down slightly and studied her eyes. “_Ai, hênig… so dull! _Have you been having nightmares?”

The girl’s gaze fell to her lap, and her hands fumbled, as he nodded her head.

“How often?”

“Three or four times a week, but I did what Hannah taught me to do about it. Focus on something good, remind myself that it’s not real, and get busy with something else.”

Tur’s brow wrinkled with concern. “Does Daeron know about this?”

“I’ve been trying not to bother him.” Her voice shook. “It’s just that since you all came back from Lothlórien, he’s worked such long hours, between the Healing Hall, and with Lord Elrond. You know how hard he’s been working, Tur! When he’s home, or finally has a day off, I don’t want him to worry about anything.”

“It is true,” Tur told them. “He needed to take advantage of Elrond’s presence while he was here.”

“I cannot disagree; he has also kept up with a full patient roster, as well,” Elénaril nodded. “He is very dedicated.”

“I _have_ been trying to adjust to all this,” Rhian’s face fell. “I know it seems like I haven’t but…” her lower lip trembled, “it’s all muddled…”

“Can you describe it?”

“That’s just it! I _can’t_ really explain it. I’m so worried about Darryn, and in my head I know it isn’t reasonable; I do! But in here,” she covered her heart, “it keeps getting bigger…”

“Rhian,” Elénaril took her hand. “I want you to tell me about these dreams, you have been having. Try to give me as much detail as you can.”

“It’s almost always the same…”

For the next several minutes, she forced the words past her lips, then soon they became a torrent. _Everything_ came out, even things Rhian didn’t think had anything to do with the problem. And all the while, the Healer listened intently and watched her, as Turamarth kept his arm around her.

“I’ve been so afraid,” Rhian sobbed, stumbling over her words. “I’ve never had all this: a _real_ home, a _real_ family, a husband who loves me… And I’m so scared I’ll lose it, that I can’t trust it. That might sound stupid, but I _know_ _how__ it happens!”_ Her voice rose to near-hysterics. “You think you’re safe, and then something changes and it all…”

“Do you feel unsafe, Rhian?” Elénaril asked.

“Yes! No. I mean… I feel like something will happen, something terrible, and I can’t seem to shake it! I’ve tried!” she sunk her hands into her hair, as if to pull the bad thoughts out. “It gets to be a tangle, sometimes. I’ve tried everything! I write down all the things I should be grateful for, I repeat them, over and over and over. I make myself smile, and do what I know to be the right things, and just hope the feelings will follow…” 

“Rhian,” the Healer gently pried her fingers out of her hair and held them. “How long has it been since you slept through the night?”

“I don’t remember,” she whispered. “I really don’t.”

_“Ai!”_ Tur rubbed her back. “Why did you not say something?”

“Because Daeron’s hardly home as it is! He’s out to all hours with his patients, and when he gets home, he needs sleep, too!” Rhian wiped her eyes. “And don’t be thinking you’re in the way Tur, because you’re not!” She turned back to the Elven Healer. “You believe me, don’t you? Tur’s been helping me with Darryn and the house, and I couldn’t have managed without him!”

“I agree; in fact, I suspect helping Tur has given you a sense of purpose and control.” Elénaril patted her shoulder. “Have you eaten, Rhian?”

“No.”

“She hardly eats anything, lately,” Turamarth offered.

“Come on, Tur, why don’t you and I go make her some breakfast?” Bard got up. “We’ll let the girls talk.”

Once they were gone, the Healer asked her gently. “I am assuming it has been a while since you and Daeron have physically joined, yes?”

Rhian nodded her head. “I was really upset when Lord Elrond told us, and we just… haven’t. I know he’s angry about it, and I can’t blame him for leaving me… I’m just so stupid…”

“No, you are not. Rhian let me tell you what I think: your first husband abused you, forced himself on you. A year and a half ago, you were attacked in your own home and was in fear for your life,” the Healer squeezed her hands. _“Hênig_, perhaps the root of this problem is not about being Immortal at all. It was the fact that something else has been _forced upon_ _you, without your consent._ Do you see the pattern? I think that is the true cause of your relapse.”

Rhian stared at Elénaril, and covered her mouth, as her chest tightened and began to hurt, and she became completely undone. The Healer held her tight as her body wracked with sobs that shook her down to her toes. She closed her eyes and felt herself being rocked and comforted, as something inside began to flow out of her, like poison from a wound.

When her lungs began to work normally again, a cool, wet cloth was handed to her and she wiped her swollen eyes. 

“Have you been avoiding Daeron physically?” Elénaril asked gently.

“I don’t mean to. I didn’t want to worry him at first, then it just became…” she struggled for words, “…it became easier and easier to avoid all of it, do you know what I mean? If I wouldn’t let myself think about it, if I kept myself busy enough, I could put it out of my mind, and I could get through the days.”

“Yet it came out in your dreams, yes?” Elénaril’s voice was soft. “This has caused problems with your marriage?”

“He thinks I don’t love him anymore.”

“Is that true?”

“NO!” she cried. “But it’s my fault he thinks that way. I started out by trying to protect him, but instead, I shut him out.”

“It does not matter, now,” Elénaril stroked her hair. “We are going to put you both to rights.”

“Where is Daeron?”

“He is at Tur’s apartment with Ruvyn. Ermon has put him in a Healing Sleep, which is what I want to do for you.”

“He was that bad off?” Rhian burst in the tears again. _“__I_ did that to him?”

The Healer quickly put her arm around the girl. _“Ai,_ no! Not at all, child. Your husband is also exhausted beyond endurance, from stress and overwork.” 

“I don’t blame Daeron, but he _is_ a Healer… did he see the signs?”

“Daeron asked Lord Elrond for some advice, and from what I understand, he urged Daeron to be patient and perhaps you would come around on your own.”

“And that was wrong?”

“Elrond meant well, but he was unaware of your history of depression and anxiety, and had no way of knowing the delay would increase the problems between you. I will write and explain the situation.”

“But I don’t want to get anyone in trouble! What if he gets mad at Daeron?”

He will not; Elrond will want to be made aware of his mistake, to be sure it does not happen again.”

“What if it’s too late? Am I going crazy?”

“Not at all; your exhaustion has allowed your worries and fear to turn into paranoia.” She cupped her cheek. “You are not well, Rhian, and I would like to put you in a Healing Sleep, for at least two days. Once you both are rested up, we can get you better. And you _will_ get better; I promise.”

“How long will it take till I’m well?”

“Not long. Once we allow your body and brain to rest, and you will be surprised at how differently things look, and I am sure you and Daeron will work it out.” 

“What if he doesn’t want to work it out?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Bard interjected, as he carried in a plate of eggs and toast, and set them in front of her, as Tur followed behind with a fresh pot of tea, and sat on the other side of Rhian. “Now eat up, you. You and I have a lot in common, you know.”

“But you _knew_ you were Immortal when you married Lord Thranduil; I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bard waved his hand. “I had my moments, too, but I’m not sorry I married Thranduil, and I don’t think you’re sorry you married Daeron either, are you?”

“No! But I’ve been completely stupid, and made him think he was to blame…”

“Oh, I did that too.” Bard sat down and poured himself some tea. “Do you remember when we were at the Palace, and that woman threw herself off the walkway?”

“It was Rhys’s aunt, wasn’t it?”

“Aye. Well, right after that happened, Lord Thranduil and I had a terrible fight.” Bard sighed. “Actually, _I _fought with _him;_ he was only trying to support me and be there for me…”

“That sounds like Daeron,” Rhian threw up her hands. “He’s bent over backwards for me and what do I do?”

“I know what it’s like to struggle with everything at once,” Bard’s smile was knowing. “I was flying by the seat of my pants learning how to be a decent King, then there was Tilda’s illness, and I had a hard time learning how to control my body. I had to re-learn to wield a sword, and even to shoot my bow. You can ask Commander Feren how well I took to _that_…” he rolled his eyes. 2 “Thing is, it all came to a head one day. I blew up and took it all out on my husband. I said terrible, hurtful things that I didn’t mean, and I blamed him for everything I was going through.” 3

“I did that, too… I didn’t mean to hurt him, but…”

“Of course, you didn’t!” he smiled. “Oh, sometimes we just… make bloody arses of ourselves, don’t we? I didn’t want to tell him I was having problems, and when it finally came out... I guarantee you, you two couldn’t have possibly been as cruel as I was; and I didn’t mean a word of it!”

“What happened then?”

“Ah, well,” Bard laughed, “Galion and Hilda locked us both in a room and wouldn’t let us out until we made up. It was awkward, let me tell you, but once we started talking, things just… fell into place again.” 4 He reached over and patted her hand. “I know it feels like your marriage is over, Rhian, but I promise, this is just a bump in the road. Now I want you to do everything Elénaril says, and get well.”

“I will,” Rhian’s eyes filled, and turned toward Turamarth, “I’m so sorry…”

_“Savo amdir,_ _Gwathel_.” Tur held her tighter. “Now eat, please.”

Once she had finished her food, Bard rose to leave. “Tur will take care of things here, and we’ll keep Darryn at the Castle. He can spend some time with his Granddad when he comes to work, and Hannah can stop by for visits. We’ll look after him, love.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“You’re welcome. Be well, now.”

After a quick bath, Elénaril helped her into a clean nightgown and got her settled into bed.

“We will be checking on you several times a day, but keep in mind that I will not wake you until I judge your _Fëa_ to be stronger. Do not worry about anything.”

“What about the dreams?”

“The Sleep will prevent them, and we will administer them each night for a long while, and by then there will be no danger.”

“Will Daeron be here when I wake up?”

“I have no reason to think otherwise.” 

“Will you tell him how sorry I am?”

“I will make sure he knows everything, Rhian.” Elénaril smiled. “Now, close your eyes, please.”

As she did, the Elven Healer’s song filled the air, and she floated into a blessed oblivion.

***************

“And so…” Thranduil crossed his legs and laced his fingers together over his knee, “while you and your wife have been lazing about, your son has been spoiled beyond repair at the Castle.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “The guards have been teaching him how to stand at attention, and there has been several ‘battles’ in our halls between our young hero and a mob of… er, ‘Orcs and Spiders,’ of which the newest member of my Guard remains victorious.”

Daeron smiled into his tea, as he drank.

“But the next bit of news, you may find distressing.”

“What?” he sat up straight.

“I am afraid Cook may have replaced you in Darryn’s affections. Lewis is a hero in your young son’s eyes, and the feeling appears to be mutual.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I jest you not!” Thranduil held up his hands. “Cook has tried out several new cookie recipes on him, and he has even given Darryn his very own stool in the kitchens. Not even Tilda has been bestowed that honor.”

“How soon can I see him?”

“Tomorrow. You need to spend some time alone with your wife. How do you feel?”

“Better. Rhian is all right?”

“Elénaril is with her now, and will be back over to check on her this evening.” The Elvenking smirked. “She left you the following instructions, and I quote: ‘Daeron is to go home and make passionate love to his wife, as much and as often as possible.’ Do you think you can manage that, Lieutenant?”

Daeron threw back his head and laughed. “I will force myself.”

“There is more I must tell you: while you have been asleep, Evranin arrived to meet with Lord Bard to go over their plans for the Dale Library. I want you and Rhian to go back to the Palace with her, and for the next week or so, meet with her to arrange your notes to begin your book. Tur has all your notebooks packed in crates, ready to be put on the wagon.

“But more important, Daeron, you and your wife need some time away from all your responsibilities here, and use this as a chance to reconnect. I’ve asked Galion to arrange for you all to stay in a guest suite on the Royal Wing. I have no doubt your parents would enjoy a visit with you and their grandson.”

“But my patients—”

“Are in excellent hands. For all their absurdity, you and I both know the twins have been trained by the best. And when you return,” Thranduil gave him a pointed look, “things are going to be rearranged at the Healing House to lighten your patient load.”

“But they need me, My Lord!”

“They do, yes, but your wife and family need you, just as much. You have only been married five months after centuries of being on your own; it takes a while to achieve that balance, but you must do better, yes?

“Daeron, you are one of my Guardians, you are my family’s personal Healer, but most important, you are my friend,” he shook his head. “I should have paid better attention, and I failed you both.”

“No, My Lord—“

“What is important is that we will all do better from now on. The Elvenking rose and handed him a stack of folded clothes, “Your boots are by the door. Now, dressed, and I will walk you home.”

Elénaril was at the house when Daeron and Thranduil arrived. 

“I have delivered your other patient, _Brennil Vuin,” _the Elvenking clapped him on the shoulder. _“Boe annin mened, Lieutenant._ _Galu a no veren__.”_

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“Rhian woke up less than an hour ago,” Elénaril smiled as she opened the door wider to admit him. “Tur is in the kitchen.”

“How are they?”

“Tur is fine, and Rhian looks much better. I have left an herbal mixture for her in the kitchen, and she is to have it twice a day with some herbal tea, not black tea. I know she loves Adila’s coffee, but she cannot have any of that either; it only serves to make her jittery.”

“All right,” Daeron shook his head. “Anything else?”

“Help her get to sleep every night. That means someone else will have to get up with Darryn.”

“We will work it out,” Daeron nodded, and looked toward the stairs anxiously. “Is she—”

“Anxious to see you? Yes.” Elénaril finished with a smile. “Go see Tur, then go to your wife.”

“Thank you…” Daeron’s voice caught.

“You would do the same,” she squeezed his shoulder, picked up her bag and left.

Tur came in from the kitchen, “How are you?”

Daeron walked across the room and pulled his _Gwador_ into a hug. His throat tightened, and he swallowed several times to keep his composure.

“I know,” Tur whispered. “I know…” He pulled back and smiled. “I have some food ready in the kitchen, and I have a bag packed to go stay with Ruvyn. You have the house to yourself until you leave for the Palace.”

“Have you heard? Evvy's here."

"I know."

"Are you all right?" Daeron looked into Tur's eyes with concern.

"We will talk about that later. What are you waiting for? You _do_ remember how to make love to your wife, do you not?” he turned Daeron around and pushed him toward the stairs. 

_“Ego, puitho orch!”_ he grinned.

_“No dhínen, Ul.”_ Tur shook his head. “Go on.”

Rhian was lying against the pillows, resting, and he couldn’t help himself from pausing to take in the sight of her. The high color in her cheeks stabbed him in the heart. How had she gotten so pale and sick and he never noticed?

He silently went over to the bed, leaned down and kissed her lips.

She opened her green eyes and blinked. “Daeron?”

Instantly she pulled him down and covered his face with kisses and tears. “Oh, stars, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I am so very sorry! I thought—”

“Shhh…” he brushed the hair away from her face. “It does not matter, _Hind Calen_.”

“But I have been so horrible… I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again, but I do love y—”

Daeron silenced her with a kiss, then another, as her body relaxed underneath him and her hands left his shoulders and arms snaked around his neck. His tongue pushed against her lips and she willingly allowed him entrance with a low moan, which vibrated right down to his groin.

His hand traveled from her hair down to her waist and he pulled up her nightgown to expose her full, beautiful breasts. Dark, rose nipples stood at attention, waiting for him to suckle.

_“Gi melin, Rhian,” _he murmured, against the skin of her neck. “I cannot be without you; I cannot.”

“Oh, babe,” she kissed his hair. “I love you. Please… I’ve missed you so much.”

He smiled down at her as he yanked off his tunic, while she undid his leggings, and pushed them down past his hips. 

“You are so beautiful, Daeron,” Rhian breathed, as she took him in hand and began to stroke him. “I love how you feel…”

He threw his head back and moaned as her touched became more intense. “Rhian, I will not last much longer…”

“Then get your clothes off and get inside me,” she whispered urgently, as she pulled her gown off her head and opened her legs. 

Daeron removed his boots, and nearly ripped his leggings getting them off.

“_A ma!_” he groaned, as he entered her, “you are so wet…”

Rhian cried out clenched around him, as he moved inside her. “Oh, stars, I’ve missed you. It feels so good! Faster! More!”

Daeron had been craving his wife, her body her smile, her soul, and now he feasted as one who had been starving. He lowered himself on to her elbows, kissed her, looked deep into her eyes, as he quickened his thrusts.

They were beautiful; so deep and dark and green, and when he looked into their depths as he came, he saw, and he understood, and he knew that she could see his own _Fëa_.

“I’m going to come, Daeron!” She moved against him. “I love you!”

“I love you, so much, _Hind Calen,”_ The tears fell, as they felt the joy of completion in their bodies and in their hearts.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you,” she whispered in his arms, as her head rested against his shoulder and his hand was buried in the curly mass of her hair. “I never thought weren’t a proper father to Darryn.” Rhian raised up to caress his cheek. “No one could love him more, and he is blessed to have you. We both are.” 

“But he _will_ leave us, _Meleth nîn_.” He grazed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “No matter what happens, we will have to say goodbye one day.”

“I know. I hate it, but now that I won’t be having those dreams anymore, I can find a way to live with it.”

“I know you will. You really are brave; do you know that?”

She winced. “Yes, well, I’ve learned the hard way that there’s a fine line between being brave and being reckless. I risked my health, and my family…”

“You are not the only one who made a mistake; I am sorry I was gone so much; I was foolish to think I could keep up with it all, and still be a good husband and father.”

“But that was such a rare opportunity, babe! Your time with Elrond meant the world to you and I wanted you to have that.” She hugged him and threw her leg over his. “Mmmm… You feel so good.”

“How are you, Rhian? Truly?”

“Elénaril says I have a ways to go, but it’s like the… colors are starting to get brighter. I don’t even know when everything had turned grey, does that make sense?”

“Perfectly. I should have noticed; I am your husband—”

“Stop,” she put her hand over his mouth. “We can say we’re sorry for hours, but I’m sure we can think of something better to do with our time.”

He let out a growl as he rolled her on her back, _“I dhû hen and,_ _Hind Calen_.”

Rhian giggled up at him. “Do you worst, Lieutenant.”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Boe annin mened, Lieutenant._ _Galu a no veren –_ I must go, Lieutenant. Blessings and have fun.

_Ego, puitho orch _– Go fuck and Orc.

_Gwathel,_ _muil_ – Sister, dear

_I dhû hen and,_ _Hind Calen_. – You are in for a long night, Green Eyes.

_No dhínen, Ul _\- Shut up, Ugly.

_Savo amdir,_ _Gwathel_ – Have hope, Sister.

**NOTES:**

[1] _And Winter Came…_, Ch 7: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/27875265>

[2] _Ibid____, Ch 10: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/28253028>

[3] _Ibid.____, Ch 21: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/29736558>

[4] _Ibid.___,_ Ch 21: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/29736558>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A NOTE TO MY READERS:
> 
> So, let’s hope Daeron and Rhian are on the mend, and I hope readers might forgive her, now that it’s apparent she truly was sick. Mental illness is never pretty and those who suffer still have to deal with not only the stigma of it, but overwhelming guilt, for its effects on those around them.
> 
> In this chapter I was happy to write how friends and family gathered around to help, but tragically that doesn’t always happen in real life. Too often their suffering is made worse by stigma, by shunning, and by judgement.
> 
> Some of my own experiences with trauma and have gone into Rhian’s character, and I wrote her storyline in Part V, specifically in preparation for NAMI’s Mental Health Awareness Week, which is always the first week of October here in the US, and this is from their website:
> 
> “Each year, millions of Americans face the reality of living with a mental health condition. However, mental illness affects everyone directly or indirectly through family, friends or coworkers. Despite mental illnesses’ reach and prevalence, stigma and misunderstanding are also, unfortunately, widespread.”
> 
> If this storyline has helped showcase this anguish, I can only hope it helps someone.
> 
> Galu, Mellyn nîn, And God Bless!
> 
> https://www.nami.org/get-involved/awareness-events/mental-illness-awareness-week


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Aur geilu* means “Morning Blessings, in Sindarin...
> 
> In which our Kings enjoy the Elf Thing, a flustered Blacksmith tries to explain why his hubby can’t come to work for a few days...
> 
> And Turamarth encounters Evvy, for the first time since he left Lothlórien...
> 
> And gets a surprise.

_“When I wake up in the morning, love_

_And the sunlight hurts my eyes_

_And something without warning, love_

_Bears heavy on my mind_

_Then I look at you_

_And the world's alright with me_

_Just one look at you_

_And I know it's gonna be_

_A lovely day…”_

** _ Lovely Day  _ ** _ by** Bill Withers** _

**City of Dale, 30th of October 2944 T.A.**

Thranduil woke to warm arms around his waist, and soft kisses on the back of his neck. He smiled and sank into his pillow with a contented hum and enjoyed the last moments of drowsiness, before his day began.

“_Aur__ geilu, Meleth nîn,” _he murmured, eyes closed. “This is a nice way to wake up.”

“Oh, you think so?” Bard chuckled, as he snaked a hand down the planes of his stomach to massage Thranduil’s cock. “Is that even better?”

“Mmmm…” He rolled onto his back and smiled up at his Bowman. “You are hungry this morning.”

“Ravenous,” Bard kissed him softly. “I had the nicest dream. Shall I tell you about it?”

“I would rather you show me_.”_

“I was hoping you’d say that.” 

Bard rolled Thranduil onto his stomach and lifted his hips. A few moments later, the Elf let out a soft moan as a well-lubricated cock slowly entered him.

“_Ahhh…”_ he murmured. “I like your dream.”

“Thought you might.” Bard leaned down and nipped at the tip of his pointed ears, making him shudder with pleasure. “Close your eyes, love.”

And he did. One of the wonderful things about sex with his husband was the joy of seeing the love in each other’s eyes, but Thranduil also reveled in the physical sensations of their joining. The tiny bolts of lightning when Bard’s cock brushed over his prostate, the slow buildup of pressure in his groin, how every muscle in his body clenched just before he exploded and throbbed in release...

Above him, Bard buried his face in Thranduil’s hair and shivered inside of him, and his hips lost their rhythm as he gasped through his own release, then slumped over him with a happy sigh.

Thranduil turned his head and captured his lips in a languid kiss. “I love you.”

“Mhmm…. That was nice.”

“It was,” Thranduil carefully moved from underneath him and twisted around to hold him. “You have nice dreams, _Meleth nîn_.”

“I could stay like this for another couple of hours, but I’ve got a full day.”

“Doing what?” Thranduil asked, as he nestled into him.

“‘Kinging,’” Bard smirked. “If we don’t show up at breakfast, the kids will come looking. And you’ve got to give Darryn back to his parents, later, whether you like it or not.”

“We could be quick…” Thranduil murmured, as he nibbled his earlobe.

Bard let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re a maniac.”

“You started it, Bowman,” the Elf snickered, as he flopped them back down onto the mattress for another round.

At breakfast, Darryn sat in Thranduil’s lap. “C’n go see Cook?”

“If you eat your breakfast, I will let you visit after we take Tilda to school?”

“’kay,” Darryn took another bite of his eggs.

Legolas smiled at the boy. “Tauriel, when are you going to spar with Vildan?”

“Aye,” Bain’s eyes widened. _“Everyone_ wants to see how you go up against him with your knives!”

“When our schedules permit,” Tauriel said, cagily.

“If memory serves,” Legolas grin was sly. _“You_ are in charge of making the schedule, and I have noticed he has been working night shifts, for the past few weeks.”

“Legolas,” she warned.

“_Gwinïg?”_ Thranduil asked. “Is there something we should know?”

“Nothing, _Ada_.” She shot daggers at Legolas and buried her face in her cup.

“We’ll have to schedule that so I can watch, too,” Bard said, as he grabbed another muffin. “Don’t want to miss that.”

“We all want to see this match,” Thranduil smiled at her. “Since there is no problem, we will all watch, next week.”

“Yes, _Ada_.”

“Percy, could you help arrange it? You know Bard’s schedule more than he does.”

“I’ll let you know,” the Steward said, as he put down his cup and stood. “Ready to face the day, Sea monsters?”

“Come on, kids,” Hilda got up. “Get your things and lets get you to school!”

Thranduil stood with the baby in his arms. “I will get Darryn’s things, and meet you in the Hall, Tilda.”

“Okay, _Ada_.”

The Elvenking took Darryn to the privy, then helped him into his wraps, though it was a struggle to keep his hat on. The October air had turned cool after the harvest, and the last thing either of the Kings wanted was to return their small charge to his parents with the sniffles.

The three of them enjoyed their morning walk, and Miss Eryn greeted them at the school with a smile. 

“Good morning, My Lord,” she curtsied. “I see you have a visitor. Hello, Darryn!”

The little boy grinned as he tried to pull of his knitted cap. “Hi, Ewwan!”

“Oh, no; we must keep that on, _Pînig!”_ Thranduil quickly wrestled it back in place. _“Aur__ geilu_, Miss Eryn,” he winked, “soon to be Mistress, yes?”

The Teacher blushed attractively, and held out the sparkling new ring on her left hand. “Evan proposed last night.”

“I have seen it,” he smiled. “Sigrid and Hilda helped him pick it out.” 

“Really?”

“I am told there is a story there; be sure to ask Hilda about it, sometime.”1 Thranduil said. “Congratulations, and I hope you will be very happy. Have you decided when you will marry?”

“Sometime in the spring, My Lord. We are hoping to include my class in the ceremony.”

“How delightful! Did you hear that, _Tithen Pen?”_

“That will be fun,” Tilda stood on tiptoe as Thranduil leaned his cheek down for a quick peck. “See you this afternoon, _Ada!”_ and ran inside.

The Elvenking turned to go, but Eryn hesitated. “My Lord, may I speak with you privately for a moment?”

“Of course; is this about the wedding?”

“No,” Eryn shook her head. “It is about Lady Tilda.”

Thranduil’s stomach stirred nervously. “Perhaps we should meet with Lord Bard about this; he would want to be present—”

“Oh, no, My Lord! I don’t mean to worry you at all! She is one of the brightest in her class; I just wanted to tell you how impressed I have been with her since school started.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tilda has made a point to help some of the other students. Some have not caught on to their reading as fast as others, and sometimes when we go out to the playground, she asks to stay behind and help them catch up.” 

“She does that?” Thranduil couldn’t help the surge of pride in his breast. 

“Oh, but Lieutenant Ruvyn stays in the classroom with her, My Lord!” she said quickly. “Please do not worry about her safety!”

“I am not,” he gave her a reassuring grin. “How long has she been doing this?”

“Almost since the beginning of this year. I think her struggles after her illness has helped her develop compassion for others.”

“She is serving her people…” he smiled. “And this is her own idea?”

“Aye; she tells me she wants to become a teacher, some day. Even Liam, who had teased her in the past has received her help, and now he is one of her biggest defenders.” She gave the Elvenking an amused smile. “I think the boy has a little crush on her.”

Thranduil’s brows shot toward his hairline. “I hope you are discouraging _that.”_

“You needn’t worry; Ruvyn keeps a close eye, and he says Tilda’s focused on her studies.” Eryn looked up, as the nine o’clock bell rang from the South Tower. “I must get inside. Goodbye My Lord; goodbye Darryn!” She wiggled the little boy’s foot and dashed into the building.

“C’n go see Mama?” Darryn asked Thranduil on their way back to the Castle. 

“In a little while. In the meantime, would you like to stop in at the kitchens and see Cook? I think Tilda deserves a special surprise for dessert tonight.”

“Yay!” Darryn laughed, and yanked off his hat before the Elvenking could stop him.

But his trip to the Castle kitchens was delayed when Rôgon approached him in the Courtyard.

“My Lord,” he saluted.

“_Aur__ geilu,” _he said, and returned the salute. “Has Galion already gone inside?”

“No, and that is why I am here,” the blacksmith looked uncomfortable. “He… is under orders by Ermon to spend a few days at home, resting.”

_“Ai, gorgor! _ Has he been hurt?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Rôg said as his ears turned bright red. “He will be completely fine, but I cannot tell you more than that.”

“Why not? Cwën,” he called his guard over, and handed Darryn to her. “Could you please take him inside and get his coat off?”

“Yes, My Lord,” she grinned at the baby and tickled him as they went up the Castle steps.

“Now,” he turned back to Rôgon. “What happened to Galion? He is hurt, yes?”

“Well, Ermon came last night and did what he could, and in a few days, he will be back—”

_“’Did what he could?’ _What does that mean?”

“I—”

“Never mind; I am going over to see for myself.” Thranduil strode with purpose across the courtyard in the direction of the blacksmith’s house.

“Oh, no!” Rôgon begged him. “He will never forgive me if I let you see him like this!”

“What?” Thranduil whirled around and fixed him with a glare that would curdle milk, and grabbed him by the front of his tunic. “Do you have any idea what I will do to you if you have harmed one hair—”

“I would never! I would end my life first!” Rôg tried to pry his hands away. “I swear on my life I did not!”

“Why can you not tell me what happened?” He shook the poor blacksmith, and people were beginning to stop and stare. Ivran glared and took a step forward, his hand on his sword.

“It was not me!” Rôg blurted. He glanced around him, and whispered, “It was the cat!”

Thranduil’s jaw went slack. “The cat?”

“Shhh! My Lord, I will tell you,” Rôg’s calloused hands fumbled awkwardly, “but only to spare my husband more humiliation…”

Thranduil slowly released him, still suspicious.

“Could we please speak in private?” Rôg’s head jerked toward Ivran.

With a nod, the Elvenking sent his guard to a safe distance. “This had better be good, Rôg.”

“I speak the truth,” he whispered. “My beloved was attacked by our cat.”

“The same cat Galion has bragged about, for the last month? The one you named, ‘Lazy?’”

“That is the one.”

“But Galion adores him! Why would _Lorda_ attack him?”

“It was an accident. Or rather, a… misunderstanding…”

Thranduil raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

“Well, you see, we had gone to bed last night, and forgot to shut the door, and…as you well know… Galion and I enjoy a rather vigorous se—”

“Stop!” Thranduil raised hands and scrunched his eyes closed. “I do not need to hear about _that!”_

“But I must! You see, we were… in the same position you saw us… that day.”

“I am going to wish I had not asked, am I?”

“I am certain of that, My Lord. But better that than cause my _Mîr_ more pain.”

“Pain?”

“You see,” Rôg whispered, “we had no idea _Lorda_ was on the bed…underneath Galion and when… well, he…screamed in agony and I nearly sprained my own… There was a great deal of blood, and I had to go get Ermon…” He winced. _“Please_ tell me you have the general idea because I just cannot say anymore.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened in utter horror, and he felt suddenly nauseous. “You mean that cat _bit off his…?”_

“Oh, no! No, praise _Eru_,” Rôgon waved his hands in the air. “But it was a bad… I mean, he still has his… but it was…wounded, and Ermon prescribed a few days of rest, but mostly loose clothing to give…things… a chance to heal…” he finished weakly.

The Elvenking stood absolutely still as he digested this. “I believe you,” he said in a small voice.

_“Eglerio i Belain,_” Rôgon’s shoulders humped over with relief. 

“I believe you only because that is too bizarre of a story to make up. What did you do with the cat?”

“Galion loves him, and will not be parted from him.”

“And he has forgiven the…er…indignity?”

“He says _Lorda_ was simply mixed up, and thought his _Gwîb_ was a…”

“Mouse?”

“A _rat,”_ Rôgon said indignantly. “A _huge_ rat, as a matter of fact. Why does everyone think my husband’s _Gwîb_ is tiny? It is not, I promise you!” 2

“Enough!” The Elvenking covered his eyes. “I know you two much more intimately than I ever wish to, and if I did not love Galion as much as I do…” he sighed. “But I do, so what do you need from me?”

“Just please, do not ask him, and do not tell anyone; for Galion’s sake?”

“Not a word.” Thranduil nodded briskly. “Who would believe me? Valar forbid Lord Percy got wind of this... If anyone asks, I will say he has burned his hand in the kitchen, yes?”

Rôgon considered. “That would work; my husband is an appalling cook.”

“Fine. I warn you; I cannot lie to my husband. Then again, the odds of Bard guessing something like that are negligible... Send Galion our best wishes, and I hope his..._hand, _will fully recover.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“And I am putting this entire subject under seal, Rôg. Never, _ever_ speak of this to me again!”

***************

Ermon, Chief Healer for Lord Thranduil, smiled down at his sleeping wife, who looked so peaceful and beautiful, nestled among the pillows.

He leaned down and nuzzled her cheek, until she opened her eyes.

_“Aur geilu, Niphredil,” _he smiled into her hair, and let his hand settle on her breast, giving her nipple a squeeze.

_“Ai!_ That is how we ended up with three children,” she smiled, as she slapped his hand away. 

“It does not hurt to practice,” he grinned. “Alas, we have no time, even if you were so inclined; we are due at the Healing House soon.” He helped her to her feet then gave her a searing kiss. “Save that for later.”

Once they were dressed, they went into the nursery. Ermon bent over the crib where his children slept, and gently kissed their heads.

“They will need to go into their own cribs soon,” Ermon reminded her, as he ran his fingers through Almarë’s white-blonde hair.

“Véana and I have been trying,” she whispered. “They will have none of it.”

> As skilled and knowledgeable as they were as new parents, the couple repeatedly sent up prayers of thanksgiving for the blessing of their full-time Nanny, for they could not have gotten through this last year without her.
> 
> The first year of parenthood is a whirlwind for any race, and despite their expertise, Ermon and Elénaril simply could not cope with their triplets without help. As kind as the ladies of Dale were to help with food, babysitting and laundry, it simply wasn’t right to rely on this indefinitely. 
> 
> Ermon knew Legolas and Tauriel’s caretaker had sailed, but luckily Véana, who had recently worked for Lady Emëldir and her husband, was available. She came to Dale two weeks later, moved into one of their extra bedrooms and quickly helped the new parents settle into a routine of feedings, nappy changes and laundry. Ermon and Véana slept in shifts until the babies were old enough to take goat milk, so poor Elénaril could get rest for longer periods of time. 
> 
> By the time Ermon went back to work in January, the triplets were sleeping through the night. The ladies in Dale still insisted upon helping with the laundry for the babies, and babysat for all three of them so they could get an evening off.
> 
> Last month, Almarë, Nórimo and Calapîa had celebrated their first birthday (and, according to the customs of Men) with a large party that should have probably been held in the Great Hall, as they all barely fit in their house. Tables were set up in the back yard, to accommodate all the guests and the children received an entire new wardrobe of hand-made, hand-knitted clothes, as well as many Dwarven-made toys from the new shop Bifur had opened up recently in the Market. 
> 
> With Ermon’s blessing, Elénaril went back to work half-days when the children were ten months old. She loved being a mother, but he knew she needed to keep practicing the art the Valar had gifted her with, to keep her _Fëa_ strong. Again, Véana was a blessing in that respect.
> 
> The _Tírahîn_ became well-known among the people of Dale, when she pushed the babies in their carriage or wandered through the Market on her days off. The tall, brown-haired _Elleth_ was patient, soft-spoken, and had a brilliant smile that sent more than a few male hearts aflutter.
> 
> But to no avail. Véana had been in love with a Guardian of the Woodland Realm, and when he lost his life trying to save Queen Mírelen and Prince Legolas from the Orcs nearly a thousand years ago, she wept bitterly, took off her silver betrothal ring and set it aside, along with part of her heart. 
> 
> The rest was given to the babes and children in her care, and it she carved out a pleasant life for herself. It may not have been the joys she had hoped for once, but she found fulfillment and a sense of purpose and that was enough.

This morning, after they kissed their children goodbye, the couple headed toward the Healing Hall, and saw the King up ahead, talking rather animatedly with Rôgon.

“What is wrong, I wonder?” Elénaril asked Ermon. “Were you not called to Rôgon’s house last night?”

“I was,” he said.

“Was it serious?”

“Oh, a minor mishap… Nothing I could not handle, _Meleth._” Ermon assured her, suppressing a grin.

”What is so funny?”

”Healer-Patient confidentiality,” he reminded her. Then he said, “Eventually, I would like to get the children a pet, but let us make sure it is a dog.”

***************

Rhian opened her eyes with a smile on her face, and snuggled into Daeron’s arms.

_“Aur geilu, Hind Calen,” _Daeron held her close. “Did you sleep well?”

“Beautifully, thanks to your _losta-luith,”_ she told him. “I’d forgotten what real sleep felt like.” She inhaled deeply and let out a contented sigh. “Mmm… smell that air; I think Autumn is my favorite time of year.”

“You think?” Daeron asked, as he kissed her hair. 

“I’ve only really seen the four seasons since we came to Dale. In Laketown, it was two things; frozen, or unfrozen. That first winter at the Palace, when I first walked through the King’s Garden with Aunt Indis, I thought the snow on the evergreen trees looked like white frosting, and the icy branches sparkled and shone in the sun like diamonds, you know?”

“I do,” Daeron smiled down at her. “I like that, too.”

“But then spring came, and I had no idea how many flowers there could be! I borrowed a picture book from the library and saw those purple Irises and pink lilies…”

“Surely there were some flowers in Laketown,” he tilted his head up.

“Not really, and only the wealthy had them. The rest of us used pots to grow vegetables and herbs for healing. No one had much money to waste on decorations.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Flowers are beautiful; they feed your soul.”

“But they don’t put food in hungry bellies. I was lucky in that respect, I guess. My father – Phylip, I mean – had some money, so I didn’t starve, like so many others, but he wouldn’t let me plant anything.” 

“Yet you like the Autumn? That surprises me, _Hind Calen_. The flowers are all gone, now.”

“They are, but the air smells wonderful, especially in the evenings. And the trees turn all those different colors, it’s like magic!” She lifted her head. “Did you see the Maple out back? You were in Lothlórien during my first October here. The first time I saw the leaves turn from green to that red, I cried, it was just so beautiful!”

“Too bad the leaves have fallen, already. I could have taken you out to see them in the Forest.”

“I’m sorry,” Rhian sighed. “If I hadn’t been so…”

“Shush,” he kissed her forehead. “There is always next year, and the year after that…”

“We’ve got all the time in the world.” Her eyes shone into his.

Daeron rolled onto his side to face her with a grin. “Say that again.”

“’All the time in the world?”” She smirked saucily. “Why, does that turn you on?”

“Hmmmm…” he growled, and kissed her. “Again.”

“’All the time in the world.’”

“Again,” Daeron kissed his way down her neck and took one of her nipples in his mouth and began to suck greedily.

Rhian laughed out loud, then moaned. “All the t-time in the world… Years and years and y-years— Ahhh_….”_

“And years,” Daeron plunged his tongue in her mouth. “I love you, _Hind Calen_.”

Rhian sat up and rolled them over. “I love you. Let me show you how much.” She kissed his eyes, his nose, his mouth, then teased his nipples by pinching and sucking, before working her way down to his hardened member. “Just think… I get to play with _this _for all eternity…” 

Daeron hissed and closed his eyes, but only for a moment; he wanted to watch. He lifted the heavy curtains of her hair and groaned at the sight. _“A, ma… Lavo den… Lavo Gwîb nîn, Meleth nîn!”_

Oh, he loved it! He threw back his head with a loud moan, and let himself drown in her ministrations for a few more minutes, before he gently pulled her off.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“No! I loved it; I love you, but I do not want to come like this,” he panted. “I need to be inside you…” He urged her up to straddle him, than position himself at her entranced and pushed her down as they both cried out. “Yes!” he pulled her head down and kissed her hard and long, as she rocked her hips back and forth, then swiveled in a circular motion, which curled his toes.

“More, Rhian! Give me more!” he cried and held her to him and began to suckle on her breasts as she moved with increasing force. 

“Oh, stars…” she gasped, “I love you! Look at me!” she pulled him off her breast and pressed their foreheads together as they thrusted against each other. 

“I love you, Rhian,” he murmured.

“I know. I know you love me,” she said with urgency, as their mutual pleasure rose. “You loved me so much that you were w-willing to d-die for me,” she gasped, “And I love you, Daeron Adamarion. I love you so much that I want to _live for you._ I want to l-live for you always, and _Oh, Daeron!”_

Words weren’t possible anymore, and her body tensed as she clenched around his throbbing member. Daeron was suddenly drowning in the green sea of her eyes and saw she was telling him the truth. She wanted this with him, she wanted everything with him, and when they came at the same time, he buried his face between her breasts and wept.

For a long time after, Rhian held him to her and stroked his auburn hair and told him over and over how much he meant to her. 

“I mean it, babe. I was confused, before; that’s all,” she whispered, as she kissed his hair. “I understand a lot better, now, and as long as we are together, in death or in life, that’s all I care about.” She lifted his chin and kissed away the rest of his tears. 

“But what about Darryn?”

“You were right when you said we’d lose him, no matter what happened. Those panic attacks were ridiculous.”

“Elénaril’s theory makes sense, _Meleth nîn_. You had just gotten a sense of power and control over your life, and when Lord Elrond gave you the news, you felt like it had all been taken away again.”

“Hannah said something to me that really helped, too.”

“What was that?”

“Ben isn’t my blood father, but he’s my Da in every way that matters. And Hannah is as good a mother to me as she is her own sons.” 

“They are wonderful.”

“So, even if what I was afraid of was true, they’d all be there for Darryn, and won’t let anything terrible happen to our boy, will they?”

“No,” Daeron sniffled. “Our son will be well and happy there, as he will be in life.”

“He will; I know it, now,” her green eyes filled with happiness. “And we will cherish every single minute we have him, so we can take those memories with us. No matter how long we live, we won’t forget him, and he won’t forget us.”

“I like your plan.” Daeron nodded, as he held Rhian tight. 

“I’m glad,” she climbed off him, and kissed him again. “Let’s get washed up and I will fix you your favorite breakfast.” 

“With the soft-boiled eggs? And crispy bacon?” his eyes lit up hopefully. “And brown bread with honey butter?”

“You bet.”

“Then, after…” he bit his lip.

“What?” she put on her robe.

“I know Lord Thranduil was going to bring Darryn later, but could we go get him? I miss him.”

“I like your plan,” she kissed the top of his head.

Two hours later, after a hearty breakfast, and a bath (which took longer than expected, because they made love again and splashed water all over the floor), they walked hand-in-hand over to the Castle to pick up their son.

Darryn was on the first floor near the Grand Staircase, playing with Ivran and Cwën. The former Warden was lying on the carpet, as the boy pretended to stab her.

“Got you!” he shouted. “You dead!”

“Well done, _Pînig_,” Ivran laughed, then pointed at them. “Look who is here, Darryn!”

“_Ada!!!”_

Daeron ran forward and scooped the boy up as he shrieked with giggles. “Who is this new Guardian?” 

“Me!” Darryn’s dark hair peeked out from underneath a wooden bowl strapped to his head. 

“And is this your mighty sword?” Daeron pointed to the wooden spoon in his hand. 

“Uh huh!” the boy nodded.

“Oops, don’t lose your helmet, Lieutenant,” Rhian adjusted the bowl that flopped over his eyes. Is that your cape?” She pointed to the linen towel fastened around his neck. 

“Just wike _Ada!” _Darryn growled. “I kill Orks!”

“He did indeed,” Thranduil came into the Hall. “Our Castle is much safer now.”

“He is full of energy, My Lord.”

“He is full of _sugar,” _Thranduil admitted.

Rhian’s brow furrowed a little. “Who gave you sweets so early in the day, little man?”

“Fwandoo!” he pointed a chubby finger at the Elvenking.

“Really?” Rhian’s left eyebrow lifted.

“Well…” Thranduil smiled sheepishly. “It was his soldier's pay for ridding the Castle of Orcs and spiders."

“‘Spoiled beyond repair?’” Daeron laughed. “I will be checking his teeth for cavities, My Lord. Are his things upstairs?”

“I will have them brought down, if you do not mind. Thangon is up there, taking a bit of a rest from his career as a Troll. Your son ‘killed’ him several times yesterday, and once this morning.”

“One can only be ‘dead’ so many times, before it becomes exhausting.”

Rhian hid a smile. “The poor dog. Let’s go kiss your Grandad, and we’ll take you home, yeah?”

****************

Turamarth woke up in his old room at the apartment, and blinked at the ceiling. It felt strange here, after months with his _Gwador_, but not as uncomfortable as it might have been, and for that he was grateful. Yet the events of this week had him worried, and he needed some answers.

He rose, and went to wash. Ruvyn had already gone to serve his shift with Lady Tilda at the school, and he didn’t feel like making his own breakfast, so he decided to visit the Bakery before he went to see Hannah. 

_“Aur geilu, Mellon!”_ he said, as he lifted a paper parcel full of rolls. “Can you spare me a few minutes? I brought some treats.”

“As it happens, I’ve got the morning off, lovey. Come on in, and we’ll have some tea.”

Once they were sitting with the rolls and the pot between them, she smiled. “So, is that a treat, or a bribe?”

“Perhaps both.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Rhian and Daeron are focusing on each other, as they should, but…” he searched for the words, “how can we prevent something like that from happening again?”

She tilted her head and studied his face. “You’re worried.”

“Yes, not only for Rhian, but…” he swallowed.

“For you?”

He nodded and studied his teacup. “Rhian had been fighting her relapse with everything she had, but it happened anyway. She put herself through the correct motions, telling herself all the right things, sure the feelings would follow… That is essentially what I have been doing, as well. I have made myself go out, talk with people, and such, but is it enough?”

“Do you think it’s helped you?”

“I do. Or at least I _did,_ but now… Rhian collapsed under the weight of it; how could I be sure the same thing would not happen to me? For all that I did to reassure her the other day, the sight of her in that condition frightened me, Hannah!”

“It should; she _was_ in a bad way. But let’s think about the difference between this time and that winter. Back then, Rhian shared her thoughts and feelings with either me, or your mother, right?”

“That is true. My mother has told me the same.”

“This time, who did Rhian talk to?”

Tur sat back and ran his finger around the rim of his cup. “She did not want to talk about it at all. Not even to Daeron.”

“That’s right; she was in denial, which is a powerful thing. How about you? Are you running away?”

“I do not think so; I have talked to Rhian, and to you, and I write in the journal you gave me…”

“Exactly! Do you see the difference?”

He nodded. “I think so. But there is something else that worries me, and I must have the truth from you, Hannah.”

“What’s that?”

“Did my problems contribute to Rhian’s setback?”

“Absolutely not. In fact, you gave her something useful to do with the memories she’s stuck with. She made _you_ stronger, too.”

“I am far from strong.”

“Not true. How much anxiety did you feel when you carried Darryn to the Castle in the middle of the night? Or when you sat up with Rhian and took care of her?”

“For Rhian I felt great worry, but for myself… I was fine.”

“Don’t you see? You knew _exactly_ what to do for Rhian because you understood what was going on! How many others would have judged her, or gotten angry? That could have pushed her over the edge, and we might never have gotten her back!” 

“Oh, but—"

Hannah grabbed his hand. “That’s why I don’t worry about you, Tur. You’re going to be all right, lovey. I promise. Just keep writing in your journal, and you know Daeron and Rhian will always be there for you.”

Turamarth left Hannah’s a few minutes later, feeling one step closer to the Elf he used to be: A Soldier; a Servant of his King, and a Protector of his people. 

To prove it to himself, he walked twice around the Market Square. As the people waved a greeting to him, he waved back, and his smile didn’t feel quite so forced now. 

“Turamarth!” a voice called to him. “Tur!”

He knew that voice, and his insides froze. _Take a deep breath…_ he told himself, before he turned around. _Take a deep breath, and remember what Hannah said…_

Evranin was at the foot of the steps of the Coffee Café.

He compelled his feet to move toward her. 

“Hello,” he said softly.

_Deep breaths. This is real, she is real, and I am safe…._

“How are you, Tur?” she smiled hesitantly at him. “I hope I am not bothering you, but I saw you—”

“No, it is fine. I am… doing better.”

“I am glad,” her eyes widened, and the corners of her mouth curved upward into a warm, compassionate smile. “You look a great deal better. You look like yourself again.”

“I am… starting to feel like myself, but I am not there, yet.”

“Well, I am sure you will be, soon.” Evvy bit her lip. “I am working at the Palace, now; did you hear?”

“Daeron told me. Do you like it?”

“Oh, very much! I have been staying with Elion and Airen, and have made friends… I am homesick, of course; I miss my brother and father but....”

“I heard your mother sailed,” he swallowed, “I am very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” She looked down at her hands. “It was for the best, and we are all better off.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, then she said, “I am here to meet with Lord Bard about the library. We were taking a break, and I remembered my last visit to Adila’s…” she smiled. “You were rather busy, that day, as I recall.” 3

Turamarth’s mouth twitched. “I remember.”

“Well… I enjoyed seeing you, again, but I must get back.” She gave him a shy smile. Be well, Turamarth. It was wonderful to see you, again.”

“_Cuio vae, Evvy,” _he said, softly.

At the sound of her nickname being spoken, she beamed at him, showing her perfect white teeth and her deep brown eyes danced. “_Cuio vae,” _she turned to go.

_Don’t go! Don’t leave… Stay… always…_

“Evvy?”

“Yes?”

“May I… May I write you?”

Evranin’s doe eyes widened with surprise and pleasure. “I would like that very much.”

The sudden stab of gladness that broke through the grey veil in his heart felt so foreign, it almost hurt. Yet it was there.

She lifted her hand to wave at him, and the gold wedding ring on her finger gleamed in the sun.

And the light went out, again.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Niphredil _– “Snowdrop;” a pet name Ermon calls his wife (because of her white-blonde hair.

_Ma?_ – Yes?

_Tírahîn_ – Elven nanny (Lit. “Children Watcher”)

_Aur geilu – _Good morning (lit. “Morning blessings”)

_Eglerio i Belain –_ Praise the Valar (lit. “Glorify the Valar”)

_A, ma… Lavo den… Lavo Gwîb nîn, Meleth nîn! _– Oh yes… Lick it… Lick my cock, my love!

_Cuio vae, Evvy_ – Farewell, Evvy

**NOTES:**

[1] _Legolas, Ion nîn_, Ch. 30: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/45534256>

[2] _Broken Wings,_ Ch. 4: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/49055189>

[3] _Legolas, Ion nîn_, Ch. 11: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/42259295>


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evvy is thinking about Tur, who thankfully learns the truth about her ring.
> 
> Daeron takes his family to the Palace, and on the way, Rhian makes a new friend.
> 
> What is the deal with Saeros, anyway? Daeron shares the answer with Rhian...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! I have returned from my trip, and finally got caught up with my sleep!
> 
> I have the best readers! Thank you so much for your patience, while I took off to see my mother and the rest of my family! For most of that week, I had no Internet access (which should have been good for me, but I hated every minute of it), and reconnected with my daughters and grandmonsters. 
> 
> Love and kisses to those who have been waiting!

_“Just say you'll love me for the rest of your life_

_I got a lotta love and I don't want to let go_

_Will you still love me for the rest of my life?_

_'Cause I can't go on_

_No, I can't go on_

_I can't go on_

_If I'm on my own…”_

** _ Will You Still Love Me  _ ** _ by** Chicago** _

**City of Dale, 30th of October 2944 T.A.**

After waving goodbye to Turamarth, Evvy had to stop herself from skipping back to the Castle to continue her afternoon meetings with Lord Bard and Lord Ben. Though her heart yearned for him, she was even more thrilled to see Tur look more like his old, lighthearted self! 

Since that day he took her to the park with Darryn, the Guardian had always been in her thoughts, and a part of her knew he was the One. She was too afraid to define these feelings as love, just yet; she hardly knew him, and had been dreaming of the opportunity to get to know him better.

Evranin owed Turamarth a great deal, though he didn’t know it. Thanks to him, her self-confidence had grown in leaps and bounds, and whenever she found herself feeling insecure, her mind had fallen into the habit of seeing herself through his eyes. What would Tur think if she did or said this or that? He had truly liked her natural self; he found her attractive and wonderful just the way she was! Slowly, over the months since then, the image and voice of her disapproving mother was replaced in her mind with his smile, his laugh, his devotion to his family…

She touched her lips lightly and smiled. What would it feel like to kiss him? What would his lips taste like? How would his arms feel, wrapped around her in a tight embrace? Would he be a kind, generous lover? Would their joining be as magical as the dreams that woke her in the night, panting and aroused? Her body longed for his touch, as much as her heart longed for his love.

Would Tur ever be well enough to find his way to her? Every night, she prayed for him, begging the Valar to bring him strength and peace again. _Even if he never wants me,_ she made herself say, as she spoke to Queen Varda, _Tur deserves to be happy and well. Please, Elbereth, help him! _But of course, she knew the Valar understood the secrets of her heart, and hoped her greatest wish would be granted.

The gold ring on her finger gleamed in the sun. She didn’t need its familiar comfort today. Evranin slipped it off her finger, then placed it on the chain around her neck. Today, she would think about Tur’s smile, and when she returned to the Palace, she would wait for the letter he promised.

Evvy closed her eyes and sighed, and forced herself to focus. She had work to do; important work, if Dale was to be as literate as Lord Bard hoped for his people. When she returned to the Palace in two days, once the list of books was given to Saeros to begin printing, she was to work with Daeron on his book for Lord Elrond. The subject matter left her a bit squeamish, and the drawings and diagrams would probably be difficult to deal with, but she had always liked Daeron and looked forward to getting to know Rhian and Darryn better.

Turamarth still had his own path to follow, and no one could say where it would lead. In the meantime, she would work, and hope.

And continue to pray.

***************

**City of Dale, 31st of October 2944 T.A.**

“You are up early, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil groaned as he stretched awake.

“I’m always up early,” Bard grinned down at his groggy husband, as he pulled on his boots. “I’m a fisherman; it’s what we do. Besides, I’ve got a busy day ahead.”

“I know you plan to meet with Evvy this afternoon, but what is going on this morning?” 

“Dale is pretty much finished now. We’ve organized the Fire Brigades, hired more constables, of which Tom is now the Chief, and now that my monthly Court is running smoothly, Ben and I want to start talking about rebuilding Laketown.”

“Have some of your people expressed a desire to return?”

“Aye, and I promised once things were in hand in the City, we’d get started. Most of my people have embraced life here, but some miss the fishing, and we need to take advantage of the resources from the Long Lake. The gold King Abdullon gave me will go towards funding that project, so it won’t put a strain on Dale’s finances.” [1]

“That is a wise move,” Thranduil sat up and ran his fingers through Bard’s thick hair. “Will you build in the same place?”

“No.” Bard moved to sit closer to his Elf. “On a practical level, I’ll never trust those pilings to support much, but more important, I’d never ask my people to live where so many died, least of all over the rotting corpse of the Dragon that killed them. Old Laketown is a tomb, now.”

“I understand, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil caressed his cheek. “Let those who died there rest in peace, _Ma?”_

“Exactly,” Bard quietly ran his fingers over Thranduil’s shoulder. “It’s three years today, you know. When Smaug attacked.”

“So it is. You left there a desperate refugee, you will come back a triumphant King, _Meleth nîn_. That is no small feat. I am glad your people chose to commemorate the day you came ashore, rather than relive that terrible night.”

It was true. After the first solemn ceremony on 31st October 2942, Bard’s Council came to him and asked that the Remembrance Ceremony be held on the 1st of November. _“We’d rather remember our survival, My Lord,” _Alun told him._ “They think of their loved ones, of course, but I get the feeling they want to focus on moving forward.”_

“Me, too. Did I tell you I’m not giving the speech this year?”

“You did not,” Thranduil’s brows pulled together. “Who will be speaking?”

“I’ve asked Hilda and Percy, but we’re going to have someone different each year. This is their day, and they should have a voice.”

“That is kind,” the Elvenking agreed. “Each family has a story to tell, and it should be heard.”

“Next spring, I want to arrange a caravan to go back to Laketown for anyone who wants to go. I’ll ask Dáin to make a stone memorial, and have a ceremony to honor those who were lost. But first…”

“Yes?”

“I think I need to go myself, and maybe bring Bain.”

“To face the memories?”

“I think I have to. It wouldn’t do for me to fall apart in front of my people; they’ll need me to be strong.”

“I could come, too.”

“I’d like that, but will you be all right? You don’t exactly like Dragons; what if parts of Smaug could still be seen? His scales are like armor, and they won’t disintegrate.”

Scales.

A thought struck him. “Bard…”

“Hmmm?”

“You are right about the scales…”

Bard’s eyes narrowed. “And they are probably still full of jewels…”

“I doubt you would find much. No doubt bandits have looted it, by now, or drowned in the attempt. But Smaug’s scales would make excellent armor…”

“But I have that Mithril set you gave me,” Bard reminded him. “And you promised one for Bain.”

“That is true, but I see no reason why you could not have another. And those scales are surprisingly light…”

“Armor out of the Dragon’s scales? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“This was a common practice in the First Age. They are almost as impenetrable as Mithril.”

The Bowman rubbed his chin. “But could you get the smell out?”

“Yes. There are ways, and Dáin’s people know how to work with that material, if memory serves. I do not know if Rôgon has any experience, but you could ask him.”

“And it would protect my men… But what if my people object? They might think it morbid.”

Thranduil shrugged. “They might, but it would not hurt to make your case in the next court, and leave the decision in their hands. If they say nay, then of course you will honor that. But think of it, Bard; how intimidating would the Army of Dale look before an Enemy? The reputation of your Military is a large part of the advantage you will have!”

Bard grinned. “It would be spectacular. But don’t the jewels in the scales belong to the Dwarves?”

“Technically yes, but if you and I take the responsibility to recover them, they could serve as a fee to the Dwarves for making the armor…”

“…which would save Dale a fortune,” Bard’s face brightened. 

“Also true,” he reasoned. “Think about it: after the Battle, we talked about how the blood spilled on the Field of Desolation nourished the soil to bring life again, do you remember? [2] Why not think of this as honoring those who died, by using that tragedy to protect the survivors? I am sure that is what the victims would want for their loved ones.”

“Thranduil, you’re a genius!” he leaned forward and kissed Thranduil. “I’ll bring it up in the next Council meeting, and then we’ll ask my people to decide. But I warn you: if my people hate the idea, then I won’t force it on them.”

“That would be the honorable thing to do, _Meleth nîn_.”

***************

**City of Dale, 1st of November 2944 T.A.**

Turamarth helped load the last of the luggage onto the wagon parked in front of the house. “How many notebooks does an Elven Healer need, _Gwador?_ I must have packed hundreds of them!”

“That is because they are also treatment records. I have tried to note every patient I have helped, and planned to glean them later for useful information.”

“’Later?’” Turamarth rolled his eyes. “You always were a procrastinator. I pity those who will have to help you get this mess organized.”

Daeron stopped and tilted his head. “You didn’t know? Lord Thranduil asked Evranin to help me,” he said, softly. “I hope that is not upsetting to you.”

“Not at all,” Tur said, though his face gave away the truth. “She has a great deal of experience and would be the perfect choice.” He hesitated then told him, “I…spoke to her the other day.”

“You did? How did it go?”

Tur’s face clouded. “We had a nice conversation, and I even asked permission to write her, but…”

“You did? That is wonderful!”

But Tur stepped away from him, and asked angrily, “Why did you not tell me she had gotten married?”

“Married?” His head jerked back in shock. “Are you sure? I heard no such thing!”

“There was a gold ring on her left hand, Daeron! I saw it with my own two eyes! Was she already secretly married to Mahtan? Her story about refusing him must have been a lie!”

The Elven Healer heaved a sigh of relief, and began to laugh.

“What is so funny?”

“You are,” he said. “You, Turamarth, are jealous!” At his _Gwador’s_ thunderous look, he explained. “Before you strike me, let me tell you that that gold ring was a parting gift from her mother, Vériel. It is a token of remembrance, nothing more. Evvy told Rhian that it will only fit on that finger, and she only wears it on days she is homesick, otherwise it is carried on a chain around her neck.”

Daeron crossed his arms, and enjoyed the changing expressions on Tur’s face. “So… you were saying?”

“You mean, she is not married?”

“No.”

“Is she…” Tur blew out a nervous breath, “Is she seeing anyone at the Palace?”

“Not as far as I know,” he chuckled. “I promise if I see her with anyone else, I will let you know.” Daeron paused and regarded his cousin with concern. “Are you ready for this, Tur? We have not talked about your feelings for her since… the incident.”

“I know. I am not sure what to do, but all I know is when I saw her at Adila’s I started to remember how I felt that day in the Park, and,” he searched for words, “it did not upset me, and I think I liked it.”

“You remembered the joy you felt?” he encouraged, with a smile. “Do you see? When we first left Lothlórien, you had no recollection of happiness. Look how far you have come, _Gwador!”_ He pulled Tur into an embrace. “I am so proud of you,” he whispered. 

_“Ci vilui, Daeron,”_ was Turamarth’s reply. “I love you very much.”

“And I you.” 

They stepped back and wiped their eyes, and laughed at each other. 

“When you two are done with your mutual admiration,” Rhian smiled from the front door, “I’ve fixed us all a big breakfast. Get it while it’s hot!”

Darryn didn’t quite understand what the Palace was, but he was excited about the trip. “In a wagon?”

“Aye, little man; you, Mama and Evvy are going to ride in the wagon and have a nice time, and if you’re a good boy, _Ada_ will let you ride with him on _Aegis_ part of the way. Would you like that?”

The boys eyes immediately darted to his father. “Can I wide?”

“Yes, _Ion nîn_,” Daeron smiled. “But you must eat all your eggs first. And look; Mama put berries in the pancakes today!”

“Here; let me cut it up for you,” Tur leaned towards his nephew. 

“You goin’ too?”

“No, _Pînig_, I will stay here and take care of the house and water Mama’s plants.”

“Speaking of house…” Rhian met her husband’s eyes. “Daeron and I have been talking, and we were wondering if you’d like to stay with us permanently. We’d both love it. Da and Hannah told me yesterday they want to stay where they are, and those rooms downstairs are empty. You could set up in my old room, and use Da’s room as your private sitting room. We’d still need to use the downstairs bathing room, of course, but since Darryn is still small, we should stay upstairs with him.”

Tur gave him a puzzled look.

“I agree, _Gwador_. Of course, if you prefer to go back to the apartment, we would not stand in your way, but we love having you here, and do not want you to feel obligated to go.”

Turamarth sat back and his lips pursed as he considered. “I have thought about moving back, but…”

“Tell you what, love; take these two weeks to think about it,” Rhian suggested. “And even if you don’t know by then, there’s no pressure. If you want to go back, you know you can come around as often as you like, Darryn loves his Uncle Tur—”

“Aww…” The baby leaned against Turamarth and rubbed his arm. “Wuv you.”

Tur grinned, and kissed the boys dark hair. “I love you, too.”

“Just give it some thought, yeah?”

“I will. In fact, Ruvyn asked me the other day what my plans were.”

“He did?” Daeron asked, surprised. “Why?”

“Captain Rahlen and Lieutenant Vildan would like to move out of the barracks, but there is no other housing available in Dale to rent. He told them I own the apartment, and they had to come and ask me.”

“The income from their rent would help…” Daeron said, diplomatically. “But the biggest concern here is what is good for you. Lord Thranduil has given you a paid leave, so do not do it because you need the money. Even if he had not, you know I will not let you go without.”

“I know,” Tur nodded, “and I appreciate it.” He bit his lip. “I admit I was considering leaving, when there was tension between the two of you—”

A pang of guilt pierced Daeron’s heart, and he saw tears forming in Rhian’s eyes, as her hands flew to her mouth.

“I am so sorry,” she gasped, as he put his arm around his wife. “Oh, gods…”

“Do not be,” Turamarth reached across the table and grasped her hand. “You could not help it any more than I could stop it from affecting me! But I want to tell you that your crisis helped me, too! I learned that I can still serve those I care about; I felt useful and needed and… For the first time since all that happened, I felt like the strong one, and it showed me that I have not lost who I am!”

She swallowed. “But still…”

“No, _Gwathel_. Lord Thranduil always says that the Valar does not make everything happen for a reason, but do you see how they brought reason into this terrible thing? Manwë and Varda made some good come out of all this, so let us be thankful, yes?”

“Are you sure? I still worry about you,” Rhian searched his face. “You know if you need anything, Hannah will be there for you.”

“And should the need arise, I will seek her out,” Tur promised. “In fact, I believe I will tell Rahlen and Vildan they can move in the apartment; I honestly want to stay here.”

“Oh, I’m so pleased!” Rhian clasped her hands together. “Did you hear that, baby? Uncle Tur wants to stay here with us!”

“Yay!” Darryn clapped his sticky hands together, then picked up a syrup-soaked piece of pancake. “Open up!” he cried, as he fed it to his favorite Uncle.

***************

“Are we settled? Darryn, do you have to go potty?” Rhian checked the pillows in the wagon in the Courtyard, as the group gathered to leave.

“I took him just before we came,” Daeron reminded her, as he mounted _Aegis_.

King Thranduil and Legolas were on the dais, saying goodbye to everyone. They were accompanying the Vanguard from Rivendell for their rotation in the Woodland Realm, then staying for a week to work out of the Elvenking’s study and meet with his Council.

“Here’s Evvy!” Rhian grinned, as the beautiful blonde Elf approached, clasping her cloak. Elladan met her at the back of the wagon and helped her up.

“Hi, Ebby!” Darryn grinned, as he settled in the cushions and grabbed his blankie. “You comin’ too?”

“I am.” Evvy’s eyes danced. “Are you excited to see the Palace?”

“Uh huh! Bye Unca Tur!” we waved at the approaching Elf.

Rhian looked past Evvy’s shoulder, as Turamarth slowly approached. His face was shy, hesitant; it had taken him some effort to come. In fact, when she’d asked him about it earlier, he declined. Yet, though it clearly was difficult, he’d done it and she was so proud of him.

“_Cuio vae, Evranin__,” _he lowered his head, touched his heart, and gave her an Elven salute. _“Harthon a threvaded estent.”_

_“De vilui, Mellon nîn,” _Evvy returned the gesture. _“Fer-nesto im. Teitho annin athodh?”_

“Of course, I will.” Tur stepped closer. His eyes traveled to her hands, as they held the side of the wagon, and hesitantly reached out to touch her fingers, but they curled back at the last second and he dropped them. “I… am glad we talked, Evvy.” 

“I, too, am glad. I look forward to seeing you again, hopefully sometime soon.”

Just then King Thranduil announced it was time for the caravan to move out. With a jolt, the wagon moved forward with a jerk, and they were off.

Soon after they got started, Daeron came to the side so Rhian could hand the baby to his _Ada_. “Here you go, Little Man! Have fun!”

Once she settled back down, Rhian and Evvy had a wonderful visit. 

“I’m so glad we’ll be spending so much time together!” she said. “I knew I liked you at the wedding, but there was too much going on for us to really get to know each other. I just know we will be good friends!”

“I think so, as well,” Evvy smiled. 

“So, tell me about yourself, and about Lothlórien, would you? Daeron said it was the most beautiful place he’s ever seen.”

“Oh, it is beautiful! And up until this summer,” she sighed, “it felt magical, in a good way. Now, I do not know...”

Rhian rubbed her arm. “It will be again, to you; I am sure of it. But keep in mind that Daeron’s people have lived most of their lives in a dangerous forest, and they still have a deep love for their homeland.”

Evranin agreed, and they spent the next several hours speaking of their lives and experiences. Rhian was fascinated by the traditions and descriptions of the Golden Wood. In turn, Evvy listened with rapt attention at the stories of Laketown. 

“That must have been horrible!”

“Oh, it was, believe me. I don’t miss that place at all.”

“I was told it is completely destroyed.”

“Aye, and good riddance, though many good people lost their lives in the fires. I’ll miss them, too. Still, the rest of us have built a good life for ourselves, thanks to King Bard. Actually, if it hadn’t been for him, I don’t think I would be happy at all.”

“What do you mean?”

Rhian began the tale of Garth and his death the night the Dragon attacked. As she spoke, she was both surprised and pleased that she could relate the events with little or no real emotion. 

“Oh, Rhian, I am so sorry,” Evvy shook her head.

“Don’t be; it’s over, I know I did the right thing, and think about it this way: I wouldn’t have my son, nor would I have met my wonderful husband. Look where I am now, happier than I have a right to be! Daeron and I had some trouble adjusting, but we’re on the right track, just like any married couple.” 

Rhian eyed her new friend, and asked, “How are you? I know you lost two good friends, recently, and that must still hurt.”

“It does,” the _Elleth’s_ eyes lowered. “Mahtan and Gelmir were good friends with my brother and I, and it is hard to think of them as gone. A few times since I came to the Palace, I would see or learn something, and I would think, “I must write to Mahtan and tell him about it,” she swallowed, and her hands fumbled, “then I remember I cannot…”

Rhian leaned over and placed her hands over hers. “Oh, sweetie… There’s nothing I could say to make that better. Just know you’ve got a friend in me and Daeron. And I know he’s had a hard time lately, but Turamarth thinks the world of you. It won’t make up for their absence, I know, but I hope it helps a little.”

“It does,” Evvy’s smiled was hesitant. “Will… Will Tur be all right? I do not want to pry, but I… think about him, and worry a great deal.”

Rhian paused. “I have high hopes; we all do. It’s a good sign that you and he talked, I know that for sure.”

“I will not ask you to break any confidences,” Evranin was quick to say. “Please do not think I would—”

“No; I know you won’t, and that tells me you are good for him. But,” she chose her words carefully, “just be patient, and let him take the time he needs. Don’t give up on him, Evvy. I wish I could tell you how long it would take, or what will happen in the end, but I think, if he were to end up with anyone, it would be you.” She tilted her head. “If that is what you want.”

“I think I do,” the Elf said softly. “When we were at your Wedding Feast, and he took my hand, I think I felt…”

“The _Ehtë Raumo?”_ The corners of Rhian’s mouth lifted. “Daeron thinks it was the same for Tur. We’ll just keep praying and hoping. Both of you deserve to be happy.”

The journey in the wagon went swiftly with such good company, and by the time the tall doors appeared, it was clear a true and lasting friendship was sealed. Darryn spent little time riding with his mother. He took a turn with his _Ada_, the Elvenking, Legolas, and when they reached their destination, the little boy was fast asleep in Captain Rahlen’s arms.

Adamar and Idril waited for them just inside the Main Doors, along with Aunt Indis.

“I’m so glad to see you!” Rhian kissed each one. “Where is Uncle Ómar?”

“He is on duty, covering my shift,” Adamar told her, “though he expects his own chance to visit with his favorite little boy. Here is Darryn!” the Elven Captain reached up and took the sleeping child from the Rivendell Vanguard. “I assume he had a pleasant trip? He smiles, I see.”

“He did,” Daeron grinned, after embracing his mother. “But he will be thrilled to see his _Haru_ and _Haruni_, when he wakes.” 

“Evvy!” Rhian called over to her, “have you met my mother- and father-in-law?”

“I have,” the _Elleth_ walked to them with a smile. “They have been most kind to me since I came, and made me feel at home here.”

“I’m not surprised, but I’m thrilled to hear it. Will we see you later?”

“Soon,” Evranin told them. “I must get unpacked and sort through my lists.” She turned to Daeron. “I must work with Gwindor and meet with Saeros, to get things ready to print Lord Bard’s order.”

“Saeros? I had assumed he moved back to his parent’s village.”

To anyone else, Daeron seemed fine, but Rhian felt a pang of… _something_ in her _Fëa:_ her husband was unsettled.

“I do not know anything about that, I am afraid,” Evranin replied. “He is assigned to work with me on the Dale Library. King Thranduil’s orders.”

“It would have to be,” Daeron muttered, then sighed. “In any case, try to get a bit of rest before you plunge back into work, _Mellon_.”

“I will,” Evvy smiled and waved as she left.

The suite assigned to Rhian and Darryn was close to his family, and had three bedrooms, though one was set up as a study. The boxes containing his notes were already there, waiting to be unpacked, according to his tastes.

Rhian opened their trunks and put their things away, while her husband dealt with their son, who was grumpy from his nap, and needed a cuddle.

“Babe?” she asked casually, as she shook out his tunics, and hung them up.

“What is it, _Hind Calen?”_ Daeron handed Darryn his Blankie and rubbed the boy’s back.

“Did I imagine it, or did you… _bristle,_ when Evvy mentioned that Elf’s name? Sawr…”

“Saeros. His name is Saeros,” Daeron sighed. “And yes, you were perceptive. He grew up with us – with Turamarth, to be exact. I am five years older than my cousin, which means nothing now, but back then, he and Saeros were in the same class level and there was always a sort of… rivalry between them. I never understood it, but they disliked each other intensely. I am ashamed to tell you, that our Turamarth could have been kinder to him.”

“What do you mean? That doesn’t sound right.”

“My _Gwador_ was full of mischief, but how many of us behaved badly when we were young? As we grow, we learn better, do we not?”

“What did he do to Saeros?”

“Turamarth always wanted to be a soldier, and he excelled in physical activities. The teachers had a terrible time making him sit and focus on his studies. Uncle Ómar had to take away his wooden swords and bows when he did poorly on his tests. ‘If you want to be a Guardian,’ he would say, ‘you must learn your maths and be fluent in Sindarin, Quenya and Westron—”

“But Tur didn’t speak Westron when he first came to Dale; you told me that!”

“He could speak some, yes, and he could read the language,” Daeron winced. “He and I… worked out that minor detail, to get him to pass.”

“You helped him cheat?” Rhian’s eyes widened. 

“I did not!” he declared in mock-indignation. “I simply… recalled the questions and answers of my own tests… aloud.”

“You didn’t!”

“I sat in my room and recited what I remembered, and Tur stood on the other side of the door and wrote them down. That way if we were asked, we could honestly say I did not give him the answer.”

Rhian shook her head. “Unbelievable… So what does this have to do with Saeros?”

“While Turamarth was an athlete, Saeros is a natural scholar and intellectual, which is perfectly fine. But my cousin decided to tease him for doing poorly at weapons and racing. He bullied him, as a matter of fact, and when I found out about it, I went straight to Uncle Ómar and told him.”

“Turamarth, a bully? No! That’s not right…”

“It did not last long, I assure you. Uncle grabbed him by his collar and hauled him to King Thranduil’s study.” Daeron chuckled. “Lord Thranduil wisely made him wait outside for a number of hours, while the Guards glared at him. By the time the doors were opened, Tur was ready to wet his leggings.”

“Oh no…” Rhian giggled. “What happened then?”

“Oh, the King put the fear of Mordor into him, and he was shaking in his boots. No Guardian in his Kingdom will ever be dishonorable to another Elf and if it happened again, he would never be considered for service.”

“That must have nearly killed him,” she said.

“He cried for hours. Then Thranduil ordered him to make reparations to Saeros for his cruelty, which he did, to the letter. He went before their entire family, admitted what he had done, and apologized, then took over the _Ellon’s_ chores for a month, including taking care of Saeros’s horse. Although,” Daeron added, “the horse had better care under Turamarth, than with his owner. Still, _Gwador_ was genuinely repentant, and understood the seriousness of his actions, which was the most important thing. He never did it again.”

“But all was not forgiven?”

“Since then, Tur had tried to make it up to Saeros, and wanted to be friends, but the _Ellon_ refused to ever forgive. Personally, I think he is jealous of Tur’s prowess and hates that it comes so easily to him. He found out about our plan to help him pass his Westron test and went to the King, to get him struck off the list.”

“Oh, no!”

“I went with him, and admitted my part, as well. I was surprised Lord Thranduil did not eliminate him, but he decided that his gifts in all other areas would compensate. He could understand and read Westron, but it was not until he stayed in Dale during the Long Winter that he became fluent. When Saeros found out Tur was still a Guardian, he was furious and spat on him.”

“My lands!” her jaw dropped. “I can’t picture an Elf doing something so hateful!”

“What about that surprises you?” Daeron quirked an eyebrow. “Have you not read all those books on Elven history?”

“Aye, but… Well, that was another age, and it’s different reading about something so long ago.”

“I assure you; Elves can be vain and stubborn and prideful even in the Third Age. I had heard Saeros went with his family to live in a village twenty miles south of the Palace. After Tauriel’s family were all killed, his parents went to help the Weaver’s Guild produce the same quality fabrics from the resources near there. I wonder why he returned?”

“Evvy told me they’d become friends during the ride here; I just assumed you were all friends, I guess.” She shrugged, as she put the last of Darry’s clothes in his drawer. “Maybe this will be a chance to make things better.”

“Perhaps,” her husband said, though his face said the opposite.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ci vilui, Daeron –_ Thank you, Daeron.

_Cuio vae, Evranin_ – Farewell, Evranin

_De vilui, Mellon nîn _– Thank you, my Friend.

_Fer-nesto im. Teitho annin athodh? _– Get better soon. Will you please write to me?

_Harthon a threvaded estent_ – I hope your journey is quick.

**NOTES:**

[1] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 47: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/38740733>

[2] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 4: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24340374>


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daeron and his family enjoy their time at the Palace, but they are becoming increasingly concerned about their friend, Evranin; particularly her growing friendship with Saeros…

_“And if I should ever go away_

_Well, then close your eyes and try_

_To feel the way we do today_

_And then if you can remember_

_Keep smiling, keep shining_

_Knowing you can always count on me, for sure_

_That's what friends are for_

_For good times and bad times_

_I'll be on your side forever more_

_That's what friends are for…”_

** _ Written  _ ** _ by** Burt Bacharach & Carole B. Seyer** _

**The Woodland Realm, 5th of November 2944 T.A.**

Daeron and Evvy took a break from their work on his book to meet Rhian and Darryn for lunch in his parent’s apartment.

“It is good to have someone else do the cooking once in a while,” Idril smiled, as they sat down to the meal. “I have enjoyed my time off to play with my grandson.”

Rhian laughed, and tried to pull Darryn into her lap, but the little boy evaded her and climbed into his grandmother’s lap.

“Of course, you can sit with me, _Pînig_,” Idril snuggled him in her arms. 

“How is it going?” Rhian asked Daeron, as she spoon some food onto their son’s plate. “You don’t have to eat everything, baby, but you must at least try it, all right?”

“’kay,” Darryn picked up a piece of broccoli and put it in his mouth. “He made a face, but he chewed it and swallowed it.”

“I do not know, _Hind Calen_,” Daeron passed the platter to Evvy, before he took a piece of pork roast for himself. “Evranin has a gift for clarity, but we struggle to find a way to arrange it all into a comprehensive guide.”

“What do you mean by clarity?” Idril asked, as she cut up Darryn’s meat.

“I freely admit I am no writer. I used abbreviations to save time, and I sometime have difficulty remembering what I meant.”

“I’m amazed you can read his writing,” Rhian grinned at Evvy. “It’s atrocious, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” the _Elleth_ laughed. “Though I have had practice at it; Orlin’s is just as bad.”

“Perhaps it is typical for all Healers,” Idril smiled. “Turamarth’s penmanship is rather lovely.”

“Daeron and Tur are blessed to have you and Indis,” she said quietly. “To have mothers who encourage them and guide them is a gift I hope they never take for granted.”

“We do not, I assure you.” Darryn told her seriously.

“I know what you mean, Evvy,” Rhian added. “My own mother died when I was very young; I barely remember her, and my birth father, Phylip either didn’t know how to be affectionate, or didn’t want to. That first winter, when I first met Aunt Indis and found out she was Daeron’s aunt, I cried.”

“Why?” Indis’s brow wrinkled in concern.

“Because she and Daeron were so… easy with each other. When I met you and Adamar, I kept thinking, ‘so this is what it could have been like.’ It was hard not to feel sorry for myself, and maybe a grieved a little bit, too. All I had wanted was for my father to show me he loved me, and he never did.”

Evvy reached over and grabbed her hand. 

“But we’ve moved past that, haven’t we?” Rhian gave her fingers a squeeze. “I think that even if we don’t get the love we need from our parents, the Valar sends people into our lives to make sure we have it. I have Ben and Hannah now, and I’m so thankful.”

“And I always had my _Ada_ and Orlin,” Evvy sighed. “I feel sad for Saeros, though. He and I have been talking—”

“You have?” Daeron’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Well, yes,” her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “We spend a great deal of time working together, as he is in charge of printing the books for Lord Bard’s library.”

“That makes sense,” Rhian nodded, giving him a cautious sideline look. “How well do you two get along?”

“Oh, he can be prickly…”

“Personally, I find him opinionated and prejudiced,” Daeron told her. “If he has trouble making friends, it is only because he has shown little interest in being one.”

“I know he seems that way with others, but he is different with me! He is lonely and unhappy, Daeron, that is all, and I have been trying to help him.”

“How?”

“Well, from what he told me, he was unhappy as a child, and I feel sorry for him. Do you not see? He does not like himself,” she argued. “I know what that is like, and I want to help him with that.”

“Do not forget you are working through your own problems, _Aewpin._ and while things were better with you and your mother before she sailed, you still endured centuries of hurt and insecurity.”

“That is exactly why I feel I must help Saeros! He knows I understand, and he has faced similar difficulties with his own family. He has shared with me that they were cold and sometimes even cruel, just like my own mother.”

“I am afraid I must disagree with you,” Idril’s eyebrows drew together in surprise. “Heril was a kind and ebullient _Elleth_, and so was her husband, Seldion. We did not know them as well as some others, but they were good people.”

“What happened to them?” Rhian asked.

“Tauriel’s parents as well as the others in her village were primarily weavers of silk. They were attacked when she was a baby, and it burned to the ground.

“I was the one who found Tauriel,” Daeron’s face clouded at the memory. “Neldor and Solana had placed her under a _losta-luith_, and hidden her in their cellar, and placed a rug and their table over the hatch. Praise the Stars she woke up and started screaming when we arrived, otherwise she would have...” he sighed.

“Oh, that’s terrible…” Rhian’s eyes were sympathetic. “Poor baby.”

Idril nodded. “When Lord Thranduil informed us of the tragedy, Heril and Seldion left a few weeks later, and Saeros went with them. When he moved back a few years ago to resume his work as a Scribe, we thought little of it; perhaps he had only gone to help them get settled.”

“I am confused,” Evvy’s lips pursed. “Why did he not tell me of this?”

“Perhaps it was too painful,” Rhian suggested. 

“When did all this happen?” Evvy asked.

“Six centuries ago. You and Tauriel are roughly the same age, I think. Tur is the same age as Saeros, and had already served as Guardians for over a thousand years by that time…” Idril answered. “I am sorry, Evranin, but the parents you describe are simply not the Elves my husband and I knew.” Idril sighed.

“But grief can do terrible things,” Rhian suggested. “Maybe they were good friends to Tauriel’s parents?”

“I do not know; they left the Palace shortly after.”

“Maybe you are right,” Evvy said in a small voice. “All the more reason to give him patience and understanding, do you not think?”

“How do you know Saeros is not just playing to your sympathies?” Daeron asked her gently. “Something about all this makes me uneasy.”

“Why?”

“Evvy, while I do not want to call him a liar, please keep in mind that all you know of his family’s current behavior is what he tells you.”

“But that would mean he is lying, and I just… cannot believe that about him. I know you and Tur have a bad history with him, but he tells me he wants to change.”

“If what he says about his parents is true, then he has my sympathies. We don’t mean to make Saeros out to be a monster, but don’t get caught up in his troubles to the point you lose focus on yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Evvy’s voice was doubtful. “I… need to get back to work. If you would please excuse me…” She wiped her mouth and after saluting Idril and the others, left the apartment.

“I hope we didn’t upset her, too much,” Rhian said softly. “I don’t know this Elf, and maybe I shouldn’t judge, but something about all this just doesn’t feel right.”

“I know what you mean,” Daeron put his arm around his wife. “Let us give her some time to think about all this.”

“Maybe we should send Aunt Indis to seek her out,” she suggested.

But Idril shook her head. “If she is not ready, it would do little good. It would be best to back away from the subject, _Ion nîn_. Give her a bit of time to come to her own conclusions.” If we push too hard, it will only make her pull away from us.”

“But could you still tell Aunt what is going on?” Rhian pursed her lips. “I can’t explain it, but I have a bad feeling about this. It makes me think back to when Garth was so… manipulating. I hate to think of Evvy going through the same thing, and maybe I’m just being paranoid…”

“No, _Vuin_; I trust your instincts. I will speak to my sister, when she returns from her work in the southern stations,” his mother nodded.

“All done!” Darryn said with a smile. “C’n I have cake, _Haruni_?”

***************

**The Woodland Realm, 12th of November 2944 T.A.**

Rhian woke up before her husband, and rolled on her side to face him. Their blankets had slipped down during the night, and settled just below Daeron’s waist, as he slept on his back. His long, reddish-brown hair fanned around him and mingled with her brown curls, much like their bodies had mingled with each other last night.

Since their reconciliation, she’d lost count of the times they had made love, and not only was her body sated, but her _Fëa_ held an inner peace that could only come from her beloved. He filled up her empty spaces, and she filled his.

It was only now that she understood the gaping chasm that had come between them, and it broke her heart all over again. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, as she recalled the look on Daeron’s face when he thought she regretted marrying him. Never again, she promised herself. If it took the rest of her days, she would make it up to him; she would prove to him over and over that she was the lucky one. Daeron was the biggest blessing in her life, more than Darryn, even, because she couldn’t imagine raising their little boy without him.

Daeron sighed in his sleep, and shifted slightly, raising one arm above his head and turning away from her. His profile was a thing of beauty, those prominent cheekbones, and his smooth, soft chin, and long neck…

There was no mistaking her husband for a Man, regardless of the pointed ears, she thought. They had no body hair except on their heads, and this gave Daeron’s skin an ethereal quality. He was tall, and some would say leaner, but her husband was by no means skinny. His muscles were defined enough to show his strength, yet he possessed enough control to shoot an acorn out of a tree, without disturbing the leaves around it, and cutting down an enemy with swiftness and precision. 

What was he like in battle? She’d seen him spar with Tur in the back Garden, but that had a friendly, playful quality to it. Rhian had never seen her husband full of fury, with weapons flying. The though made her shudder from a combination of fright and pride.

Images from their the trip to Dale after the Long Winter came to mind, when the reports came that a band of Orcs and Wargs had threatened them. When Daeron hurried her back to the wagon, and they took off, she clutched on to her baby and prayed, not only for their safety, but for him and all those who went to fight. But before he left, he kissed her forehead, touched her cheek…

Oh, gods… He had called her his love, even back then. 

_“I can’t, Daeron,” _she had said, when he told her to be brave.

_“Yes, you can, Meleth Nîn. Rhian, you have much courage, and I know you can do this...” _

And she had, because he believed in her, long before she knew how to believe in herself. 

She reached over and gently lifted a small strand of hair from his face, as tear pricked her eyes. How much time had she wasted, shaking her fist against the sky because of things in her past that could never be changed? What a fool she had been to wallow in disappointment over her lot in life, when so many others had suffered as well?

And perhaps all that Lord Elrond spoke of was too enormous to take in at first, but the idea that she has such an important destiny suddenly wasn’t so frightening, because she had Daeron, who believed in her, and who showed her almost from the moment they met that she did possess the courage needed.

Rhian closed her eyes:

_Forgive me. Please forgive me for doubting you and thank you for the life I have now._

_I don’t deserve this. I have been foolish, selfish and immature and I ask for your help to be worthy of Daeron and all the gifts you have bestowed upon me. If you have a plan for us, then I promise to work hard and be what you want._

_Just, please; don’t give up on me. Help me…_

_“Hind Calen?”_ A soft mumble brought her back to the present. “What are you doing?”

“I am praying.”

“Are you well?” Daeron shifted toward her. 

“More than well,” she whispered. “I… think I’m beginning to understand.”

“What is it?” his full mouth lifted in a slight, but curious smile.

“All that stuff that Lord Elrond told us. Before, I was adjusting to everything at once; we’d only been married a few weeks when you had to leave, then when you came back, you had to look after Tur. But that’s what you should have done,” she added quickly. “I wanted to help you, babe, don’t doubt that. But after we… joined, it was so different inside me, and maybe it’s because I’m a woman that it took me so long to get used to it, I don’t know.”

“Have you spoken with Lord Bard? He has gone through a similar process, and it might help you.”

“I’ll do that, I promise, but I’m not talking about that. Elénaril was right when she said I broke down because it felt like something was forced on me, and I didn’t have a choice. But you said something that night we fought…”

“About what?”

“I _had _lost my faith, Daeron.” She sat up and tucked the sheet over her breasts. “But I think I understand why they… looked after me like this. I never thought I was anything special, really, but they must believe in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

“I believe in you,” he gently stroked her cheek, light as a feather.

“I know, and it means the world to me. I’ve always believed in you, too,” she said, as her voice caught. “I think when I was… when we had problems, I stopped seeing myself through your eyes, and what was left was something worthless and despicable. But I must have some redeeming qualities if the Valar has gone to so much trouble to make sure you and I are together.”

Daeron pulled her back down and gathered her into his arms. “Indeed, though we may not fully understand it for years. Decades perhaps.”

“True. Since they told me about my gift for growing things, I’ve tried to go out into the garden and, I don’t know… figure out what they mean, but I honestly don’t see it. The plants don’t ‘talk’ to me like babies talk to you, or like how you ‘see’ shadows.”

“Perhaps when Radagast comes, he will help you.”

“Maybe he will. But in the meantime, I want to focus on you, and our family. Maybe I’m not meant to deal with any of this for a while, yet. Lord Elrond only told me because he was only going to be here in the North for a short time, and it could be centuries before he came again.”

“True,” Daeron considered. “The last time he was in the Woodland Realm was when Queen Mírelen was killed, and that was a thousand years ago.”

“Exactly! So, of course he had a lot to do. That doesn’t mean all this stuff with me has to be put into place this instant.”

“But what about the fact that you have been given a place on the ships? Are you reconciled with that?”

Rhian sighed and paused before she answered. “I think I am. In a way, don’t you think we all are Immortal? I mean, the race of Men doesn’t live very long on Middle Earth, but don’t they go on to live somewhere else? If you think about it, it isn’t a question of living or dying, as much as ending up in different places. You and I will spend a longer life here, but when we leave, we can’t come back any more than Da or Hannah or Darryn could, so to those left, it would be like we died, too. Does that make sense?”

“It does, though I am sad to think we will be separated from our son.”

“But he won’t stay with us for that long anyway. He’ll grow up, and maybe he’ll move away to someplace like Rohan, or even Gondor. Twenty years is short time, even for humans, but sooner or later, we’ll have to let Darryn go and live his own life.”

“That is true. What helped you understand all this, now?”

“Something Glorfindel did. I didn’t think much of what he said then, but it’s been weighing on my mind more and more, since we’ve come back together.”

Daeron’s eyes widened slightly. “Was he unkind?”

“Oh, nothing like that. I’d been avoiding him and Elrond while I was working at the Castle, and thankfully they didn’t push. But the day before they left, it was nice out and Glorfindel cornered me in front of the Kings and asked if he could speak to me out in the Gardens. What could I say, but yes?”

“What happened?”

“Well, I thought he’d take me out there and lecture me – and Valar knows I deserved it – but he didn’t. He just sat beside me on a bench in the sunshine, and asked me about the flowers there. After a while I relaxed a bit, and he told me about his childhood in Valinor, back when the Two Trees were shining. He didn’t go into anything splendiferous about that place, thankfully. I’d have been even more intimidated about the whole idea if he had.”

“What did he talk about?”

“He spoke of his mother, and his father and all these small details of the place. What his house looked like, the meals his mother prepared for him, and the games he played with his friends… I didn’t see it then, but now I know what he was doing.”

“He wanted you to see that you would not be as out of place there as you thought.”

“I think so. I get it now; when they first told me we were going there, I panicked! I’m a human, so little and lowly… How in the world could I fit in next these beings I’ve been reading about? Gods, and Maiar and Elves that had such amazing powers, you know? You’d be floating up there, high above anything I could ever be, and I’d be crawling on the ground… I’m nothing compared to them.”

“Do not think that way, _Hind Callen,” _he took her hand.

“But how could I not? I thought I’d not only be out of place, but I’d be stuck like that forever, do you see what I mean?”

“If that were true, I could see how it would seem like a curse, rather than a blessing.”

“But Glorfindel seemed to understand, bless him, though I couldn’t even put into words what frightened me so much. Now, I can picture us there, and it’s… good, Daeron! All the things I love about our life here, I’ll find there, too; a house and a garden, and if we have more children, they’ll be with us, too. Glorfindel said they have festivals and forests, and cities just like Dale, but without the danger. I’ll miss Da and Darryn, of course I will, but,” she met his eyes, and smiled. “I can picture living there with my soul mate.”

_“A_ _Hind Calen_…” she was swept up in his arms and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, “you have made me very happy.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for seeing things in me I didn’t know was there.” She stroked the back of his head and closed her eyes, and hugged him tighter. “I love you.”

“_Gi melin_,” he murmured. _“Le I velethron e-guil nîn, Rhian Adamarion.”_

“Me too,” she smiled and pulled her head back, and put their foreheads together and grinned. “Apparently I the love of all of my lives.”

Daeron chuckled. “I am so thankful we are together again.”

“Me, too. I don’t ever want to feel apart from you again.” She gave him several quick kisses.

“When we return home, I was wondering…”

“What is it, babe?”

“Lord Bard is physically different, since his marriage. It took him months to relearn some things, such as archery and sword work. I know you took some self-defense before we married, but I think we should revisit those skills.”

“We could,” she mused. “It might be fun.”

“I would very much enjoy fighting with you,” he bit his lip. “It would be…exciting.”

“After the ‘fight,’ there’d be lots of ‘making up?’”

“Exactly, _Meleth nîn.”_

“Mmmm…But won’t you still be working all hours at the Healing Hall? Babies don’t exactly follow a schedule, and I won’t let you neglect your patients. They need you, and I know how much your work means to you. Tell you what,” she snuggled against him. “Let’s put Tur in charge of teaching me. He’s getting better, and this might help him get back to the work sooner.”

“Brilliant,” Daeron kissed her.

“Is Evvy still upset with us?”

“She has not said, and I have been careful not to bring up Saeros. I was surprised at how defensive she felt.”

“I know, but Aunt Indis is right to be careful. I was like that when I was with Garth. I couldn’t handle anyone thinking badly of him, not because I thought they were wrong, but because I wasn’t able to handle the truth of what he was. Hannah said that happens; our spirits know the truth, but our minds just can’t accept how awful it is. We’re in so much denial, we get nervous.”

“There is much truth in what you say, and I see the same in her.”

“Have you seen him at all, since we’ve been here?”

“No, but the Palace is a huge place. Have you seen him?”

“I wouldn’t have any idea who he is,” she shrugged. “So far, everyone has been kind and friendly, so if I met a disapproving Elf, I’d have noticed.”

“Perhaps not. Saeros has always had a habit of playing up to whomever he was with. That is what makes me nervous about him around Evvy; she is young and vulnerable, and he could easily manipulate her.”

“But she has us, and Elion and Airen look after her, not to mention your family. They’ll all keep an eye out.”

Daeron nodded, as Rhian slid out of bed with a reluctant sigh. “I’d love to lie around with you for another hour, but our son is going to be up soon. Do you think you could take the afternoon off? It would be fun to bundle Darryn up and take him for a walk in the woods?”

“He’d have more fun if we rode on _Aegis. _I will see if Falarion can provide you with a mount, and we could pack a light lunch.”

“It’s a deal,” she leaned down a gave him a peck on the cheek. 

***************

**The Woodland Realm, 16th of November 2944 T.A.**

The rest of their stay at the Palace flew by in a pleasant blur of activity. Daeron felt closer than ever to his wife, and it was lovely to spend time with his parents. Aunt Indis returned from her trip a week after their conversation with Evranin, their evenings were spent in their shared apartment, watching _Haru_ Adamar and Uncle Ómar crawl around on the floor with their grandson. 

Rhian smiled up at him, then leaned her head on his shoulder. “Your family could have been upset at the idea of marrying a woman, but look at us here together.”

“We are blessed, _Hind Calen_,” he whispered to his wife. 

“Yes, we are,” she agreed.

At last, it was time for them to return home, and there were tearful goodbyes near the Main Doors, as the wagon waited to carry Rhian, Darryn and some other supplies. Lord Thranduil and Galion had returned the week before, and the Vanguards from Rivendell would not be returning to Dale for another month, so their escort was minimal, yet they were well-protected.

_“Novaer, Ion nîn,” _Adamar embraced him. “We will come to visit, at Yule and see how you all fare. In the meantime, look after my grandson.”

“I look forward to it, _Ada_.” 

“I have loved seeing you,” Idril hugged him tight. “We are so proud of you all.”

“Thank you, _Nana,” _he smiled softly, then took the baby from his wife so she could hug Evranin. “Kiss _Haruni_, and tell her to come and visit us, soon.”

Darryn pouted. “Come now?”

“I wish I could, child,” Idril kissed his hair. “But soon, we promise. Aunt Indis and Uncle Ómar want to say goodbye, as well.” She took the baby and carried him to be fussed and petted some more.

Evranin was with Rhian, holding both her hands. “Please, write soon?”

“You bet. Look after yourself, and come see us soon, would you? Maybe you could come with the others to celebrate Yule? Airen, you come too, and bring your husband! We’ve got tons of room in that big house, and Darryn would love it!”

“We would love it,” Elion put his arm around his wife.

Daeron turned to follow his wife out the door, where _Aegis_ was waiting impatiently, but something out of the corner of his eye made him turn back around. 

Saeros was standing across the cavern, on a lower walkway, observing the small crowd that had gathered, which was not unusual.

What _was_ unusual was what he saw, lingering around him, something that Daeron had only recently begun to see.

Yet he was new to these skills, and this could be a mistake…

What if it wasn’t?

_Ai gorgor…_

***************

**City of Dale, 18th of November 2944 T.A.**

“_Aran nîn_, might I speak with you for a few moments?” Daeron had entered the hall of past the Grand Staircase, just as Thranduil was leaving his study with Legolas.

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Is this a private meeting?” Legolas asked.

Daeron considered. “I do not think so, though I think discretion is needed. I might be able to use your insight, Legolas, if you are not busy,”

“Then I will stay,” the prince nodded.

“Would you like any refreshments?” Thranduil raised his arms to indicate the chairs in his room, and urged them to sit.

“No, thank you. I am needed at work in a half-hour.” Daeron settled himself and took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “I would like to send a message to Lord Elrond, and I want you to read it first.”

“This sounds cryptic, Lieutenant,” Thranduil accepted the paper, but did not unfold it. “Suppose you tell me what is in this message and why you want to send it?”

“As you know, I have been working to develop the gifts, Lord Elrond believes I have, and while it will take a great deal of practice, I think my skills have increased. While he was with me, of course things were easier to… ‘see’ for want of a better word; I leaned on his power and skill. It has only been in the past few weeks that I have begun to detect things on my own, and part of this letter is to report thus.”

“What kind of things?” Legolas asked. 

“I can see shadows from the Black Breath, and have been given the ability to fight them. Elrond tells me – and your father – that I have been given this gift to fight the Evil that could return to the Woodland Realm. 

“I have also begun to see…” the Elf struggled for words, “for what of a better word, different types of _Fëas_ which seems to radiate around the person, and I am not sure what to do with that.”

“Elrond called them _‘Auras,’” _Thranduil said. “It was how he discovered that our _Tithen Pen_ has been given the choice of the Peredhel, do you not remember?”

“I do,” Daeron agreed with a nod. “It was one of the subjects we covered, and I have been noticing the difference between Tilda and her human siblings.”

“Does she know?” Legolas looked to his father.

“No, and this information does not go any further,” the Elvenking told his son. “Daeron knows only because he is our family’s personal physician, but no one else is aware. Bard and I have decided to wait until she comes of age, to tell her. It is unfair to burden her or the other children with this while they are still young.”

Thranduil turned back to the Healer. “Why does this concern you now? Have you seen something amiss with our daughter?”

“Not at all,” he said quickly, “I only see faint hints of it, at any rate, but it does affect my treatment of her in the future. No, _Hîr nîn_, my concern is not with any Elf in Dale. 

“Rhian and I have been worried about our friend Evranin, namely her friendship with Saeros—”

“The Assistant to the Master Scribe? Narthon has not reported any complaints to me.”

“I would not know about that, but my wife is nervous about it, and I share her concerns.”

“I know Saeros and Tur have never been friends, and that goes back to their childhood, but surely they have matured past those petty grievances!”

“I know my cousin has, and our family is fond of his parents, apparently Saeros still holds a grudge and his different opinions about your policies about our interaction with Men and Dwarves.”

“That is of little consequence to me,” he shrugged. “I do not consider dissention to be a treasonous act. Every subject in my Kingdom is entitled to think freely, if they follow the law. Sedition is another matter,” the Elvenking studied the Guardian. “What is it you are trying to say, Lieutenant?”

“He avoided us for our entire stay, despite Evvy’s invitation to join us. But when we were leaving the other day, I saw him in the distance, and… saw something. Something about his _Fëa_, that I do not understand.”

The Elvenking’s stomach stirred, and he leaned forward in his chair. “Does a Black Shadow linger over him?” _Ai! Not again, _he silently prayed. Were they to be hounded by Sauron constantly, until they sailed? Would this Evil dog their every step?

“No, I do not see the Black,” Daeron put his hands up to quickly reassure him. 

Thranduil sighed, as did Legolas. _“Eglerio,”_ he murmured. _“Edregol vaer… _What did you see then?”

“That is just it; I saw… a lack of color, My Lord. 1 A Void of emotions.” He sat back. “I do not refer to the Auras that denote our destiny, the way Elrond explained to us. I mean something about his personality, his _Fëa_ shows a… lack of something. I wish I knew more about it.

“Normally, an Elf feels things very deeply: our love, our passion, our longing, do you see? But this is somehow skewed in Saeros. I could be mistaken, but if I am correct, My Lord, I see a complete lack of conscience, no compassion for those who hurt or any instinct for regret.”

“That is… not right,” Legolas whispered.

“No, it is not,” Daeron said, seriously. “I think he might be deranged, in some way, and if that is true, not only is Evvy in danger, so are many others at the Palace.”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Aewpin_ – “Little Bird,” Evvy’s nickname since childhood.

_Edregol vaer –_ That’s wonderful

_Eglerio – _Praise the Valar (lit. “Glorify”)

_Hind Calen _– “Green Eyes”

_Meleth nîn – _My love

_Pînig_ – My Little One

**NOTES:**

[1] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 3: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/48867101>


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daeron continues to discuss his concerns with the King, Tauriel makes a new friend, and Turamarth is confused.

_“I believe in you_

_You know the door to my very soul_

_You're the light in my deepest, darkest hour_

_You're my savior when I fall_

_And you may not think I care for you_

_When you know down inside that I really do_

_And it's me you need to show_

_How deep is your love?”_

** _ “How Deep is Your Love?”  _ ** _ by** The Bee Gees** _

**City of Dale, 18th of November 2944 T.A.**

“Just a moment, Daeron,” Thranduil held up his hand. “I know you are worried, and that you and Saeros will never be friends, but there is no proof that he is putting anyone in danger. I know you are erring on the side of caution, but I cannot lawfully approach an Elf in my Kingdom based on what you have told me. He is done no actual wrong, has he?”

“Well, no…” Daeron admitted. “And perhaps I am over reacting. I am very new to all of this, and I could be misinterpreting what I saw.” His face fell. “My apologies, My Lord; I should have taken the time to make sure.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, _Mellon_. While I do favor you and your family on a personal level, as King of the Realm I cannot behave so in an official capacity.”

The Elvenking lightly grasped his chin. “I think we should send a message to Elrond. A short one via bird should reach him in a few days, though I suspect the reply will be lengthy and we will not receive it until the spring.”

“But what about Evranin?” Daeron leaned forward in his chair slightly. “I do not wish her to be hurt!”

Thranduil considered his question for a moment or two, as he leaned his elbows on his desk. “Are you sure you are not operating on the assumption that Evvy and Turamarth will eventually get together?”

“Why not?” the Healer argued. “I think they do care for each other, and once Tur becomes stronger—”

“Peace, _Mellon nîn_,” he raised his hand to calm him. “I only mean that both have every right to pursue their own friendships and relationships. If for some reason either of them decides they are not right for each other, we have no say in the matter. Evvy may yet return to the Golden Wood when her work is finished. If that is what she truly wants, then we must say farewell with our goodwill.”

“Tur loves her,” Daeron sighed. “I know it.”

“But not every Elf who falls in love, ends up with the object of his desire,” Thranduil reminded him with a wry smile. “The _Ehtë Raumo _is no guarantee for happiness, no matter how worthy the Elves are. 

“Let us not forget the true reason why Evranin was sent to the Realm: Lady Galadriel _did not_ want me to bring her here to find a husband; Evvy needs to be independent, and to discover what she can about herself and the wider world.” The Elvenking raised his left eyebrow slightly and skewered Daeron with a warning look. “She does not yet know how to be strong-minded and I _will not_ allow anyone to press their own expectations upon that young _Elleth_. She should make her own choices, and learn from her own mistakes.”

“You are right, of course, _Aran nîn_,” the Elf nodded. “If you like, I could speak to Rhian and my parents and reiterate her mission here.”

“That would be good.”

“But suppose Daeron is correct,” Legolas brows drew together in a thoughtful expression, as he rested his ankle on his other knee. “Would we not be endangering anyone by ignoring this?”

“I did not say ‘ignore,’ _Ion nîn_. There are some things I _can_ do, though it is not much. I can speak with your father and uncle, Daeron, and have Saeros observed inconspicuously and report his movements to me. I will also send a message to Feren, and he will make some casual inquiries regarding Saeros’s parents. He is due to finish with the Vanguard’s rotation in the Forest in a day or two.

Daeron heaved a sigh of relief. “I would appreciate that. I hope I am wrong; it may well be that Saeros might enjoy making a little mischief, but I think too highly of Evranin and her family to take chances.”

“I agree, but still, we must be careful.”

The Elf rose from his chair and saluted his King. “Thank you for your time, _Aran nîn_. Do you happen to know where Rhian is? I have a few minutes before I report for duty.”

“I believe she and Lady Hilda are in the Throne Room, making sure all is in place for Court tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he bowed and after exiting the King’s study, went back to the Grand Stairs and turned left, past the small receiving rooms and Ballroom with its polished floors to the last room at the end, where Lord Bard received his people and heard complaints, judged disputes and made law.

> Beyond the tall, impressive double-doors was a large hall, and at the far end was the dais where Bard’s carved wooden throne sat in all it’s splendor. Dragons, fish and other symbols of the history of the people of Dale were carved into its tall back, as were the arm rests, but Hilda had made sure they were also padded with red velvet where Bard’s elbows would be resting. 
> 
> Near the throne, a table was set up for Lord Percy to provide the King with as much background information as required, and to provide documents for Bard’s signature, and Seal. To the right of the Steward’s chair were two seats for two Scribes to record all the proceedings. Most months, Hilda served in this capacity with Rhian’s help, but Evan sat in their stead a few times, and did a good job.
> 
> To the left of the throne on the dais, were the padded chairs for the members of Dale’s Council, as they offered their advice and opinions on the proceedings. Thranduil had advised Bard long ago to take his time in choosing the members, and as of now, each member represented different concerns with the operation of their rapidly-growing city.
> 
> Lord Ben gave a monthly report on the condition of the buildings in the City, and surrounding areas, and Llewellyn Seren’s husband and Ben’s Assistant) sat next to him. Lord Alun and Evan concerned themselves with financial matters, strived to keep up King Bard’s policy of transparency when it came to Dale’s budgets. Chief Constable Tom and his son Egon represented all things Law Enforcement, as well as making sure that new decrees made in Court were posted all over Dale. Roderic from the Long Lake and his wife Catrina spoke for the concerns of the Marketplace, and every shop owner in the City usually attended Court days, to not only keep abreast of problems, but to help spread the word to their customers. 
> 
> At Thranduil’s suggestion (and insistence) no Elf sat on Lord Bard’s Council, but several of them did attend the proceedings, as was their right, as citizens of Dale. The Elvenking himself absented himself from Court as a rule, to avoid the appearance of participating in government, but he King of Dale made no effort to say that he would “consult with Lord Thranduil for suggestions.” To pretend that he had no influence over these things was unrealistic and would only serve to undermine the people’s trust.
> 
> Anyone could attend Court, provided they were respectful and not disruptive. No children were allowed, unless they were to be brought before the King for a specific reason, and Bard hated the stories he heard of other countries that forbid sitting down in front of their King. He had insisted that several rows of benches be placed in the Throne room, and his chair was up on the dais only to be easily seen, not to demonstrate his superiority. 
> 
> “Let visiting dignitaries be appalled,” Bard had shrugged, when Galion brought the subject up. “I want to show my people that I’m here to serve _them,_ while they serve me.”

Today, Daeron found his wife leaning over the Percy’s table, reading over the agenda with her boss. 

“I think we can call a break after this person, for the Midday meal,” Hilda was telling Rhian, who was plumping the cushions on the throne. “Unless we run into a problem, none of the morning items should be done on time, don’t you think?”

“I can let Greta know. What about supper?”

“Hmmm….” the woman ran her finger over the list. “This one might take a while… and I know Bard wants to discuss regular practices for the Fire Brigades. But I know he also wants as many people in Dale to participate in that…”

“We just built this place, the last thing anybody needs is to see it burn down, like Laketown,” Rhian mused. “If we suggest to Lord Bard to put it that way, I don’t see where he’ll get much resistance. I like his idea to have full buckets hanging all over the place. Da and I have put two in both floors of the House.”

“Do you have a can of flour handy in the kitchen for grease fires?” Hilda asked her.

“You bet. That was the first thing I did, after last month’s Court. I honestly hadn’t thought of it. You know, maybe the Fire Brigade could talk to the kids in the school? They should know this stuff, too.”

“Put it on the list,” the Seneschal told her. “Daeron! What brings you here?”

“My wife,” the Elf came up and kissed Rhian’s cheek. _“Mae g'ovannen, Meleth nîn. _What are you doing?”

Rhian set the red cushion back on the throne. “Just making sure Lord Bard’s back won’t suffer tomorrow. This is a beautiful chair, but it’s not exactly built for comfort, and he said it gets painful after a while. We thought a few small pillows might help.”

“I am sure the King will appreciate it. Tur is watching our son, and I needed a quick meeting with Lord Thranduil before I go to work.”

“Is Darryn’s nose still stuffy?” she asked.

“I took care of the inflammation,” he said, “but Tur and I built a tent from a blanket and chairs for the steam. When I left, they were both sitting in it, pretending they were swimming.”

“Aww…” she smiled. “I’ll bet he’s loving that.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them,” he grinned. “At least Darryn stopped begging for cookies.”

“Oh, good,” Rhian smirked. “Don’t tell Cook you and Uncle Tur have been eating most of them; it would hurt his feelings.”

“Better that than an unhealthy boy,” Hilda chimed in. “But you’re right not to say anything; Lewis is a sweetheart, but he can be temperamental.”

“Oh!” Rhian winced and smacked her forehead. “I forgot Tur’s letters!”

“Do not worry, _Hind Calen_,” he put his arm around her. “I saw them in the front hall, and dropped them off to Galion before I saw the King. It is all taken care of.” A thought struck him. “Do you happen to know if Tur received any reply from his first letter?”

“I wasn’t given one to pass along,” Rhian shook her head. “You don’t know either?”

“I have not seen one.”

“Well, maybe Galion gave it to him directly. I’m sure Evvy would write back… Do you know what he said in his letters?”

“No, and neither one of us will ask. As a matter of fact, I have been instructed by Lord Thranduil…” Daeron went on to reiterate the Elvenking’s edict about interference.

“No; he’s right,” Rhian nodded, as her mouth thinned out. “We all should stay out of it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hope. They’re perfect for each other!”

“I agree, but neither one of us wants to see them marry for the wrong reasons. The biggest case in point is Evranin’s own parents. We will be supportive of them as individuals, yes, but we will not discuss one to the other, unless they bring up the matter themselves, and even then, we must refrain from giving advice.”

“Good plan,” Hilda said, as she arranged the stacks of papers and made sure the ink wells were full. “Best way to kill that relationship is to start pushing.”

“I must go,” Daeron hugged his wife, then kissed Hilda’s cheek. “I have a full day in the clinic, but please remember I have three patients due to give birth at any time. I should be home before Darryn’s bedtime, but…”

“I know, babe,” she hugged him back. “Good luck.”

With another quick kiss and a wave, the Elf went to work.

***************

**City of Dale, 24th of November 2944 T.A.**

_“Gi suilon,_ Lady Tauriel!” Vildan, the Lt. Commander of Elrond’s Vanguard fell into step beside her.

“It is just ‘Tauriel,’ please,” she replied hotly. “Better yet, you may call me Captain Neldor-Thranduilliel.”

“That is a mouthful,” he teased, with a grin, “but if that is your wish… Good morning, Captain Neldor-Thranduilliel. How are you on this crisp autumn day?”

“Why do you need to know?” she asked him. 

“Why not? You and I are not enemies, and though we did not compete with the fighting knives—"

“Look,” Tauriel grimaced, “I am sorry my father postponed this sparring match between us that you and Legolas want, but I had nothing to do with that. I do not see any good reason for such an event!”

“A little competition is healthy; do you not agree? Did not Lord Thranduil himself agree to test his skills against Lord Glorfindel? I know you enjoyed yourself that day.”

“That is because I was watching my father,” she stopped and stared up at him. The Noldor Elf was taller than her, though not as tall as her _Ada_. Unlike most Elves she had known, Vildan preferred to wear his dark hair up in a ponytail, or sometimes in a haphazard, messy bun at the nape of his neck. 

But wouldn’t that be uncomfortable under a helmet, she wondered? A small part of her hoped it did, the part that couldn’t stop wondering about it… 

Tauriel growled to herself and shook her head. _As if it mattered one way or another to me,_ she thought to herself. _He could wear his hair any way he liked!_

“Excuse me?” Vildan’s full eyebrows lifted. “I did not quite catch that.”

“I did not say anything! Why is this… why do you even bother with such trivial matters? Surely your reputation as a soldier is guaranteed. You are a Vanguard – equal to the Wardens of Lothlórien, and to the Guardians of my lands! What is it that you need to prove to yourself?”

“Not a thing, Captain,” he bowed his head. “I enjoy competition as much as the next soldier. It is also an excellent excuse to talk to you.”

“But, why?” she shook her head in disbelief. “If superficial flirtation is what you are after, any number of _Elleth_ or women would be happy to oblige—"

“’Flirtation’ is a bit harsh,” Vildan said in mock-chagrin, “I prefer to think of it as… _banter_ between friends.”

“I am not your friend, Commander,” Tauriel put her hands on her hips, “nor do I engage in meaningless, frivolous banter. Seek such attention elsewhere; I am busy.”

“I was told it was your day off,” his voice was mild. “As it happens, I am off-duty today as well, and I was wondering—”

“I am _not_ going to spar with you!” she growled.

“Who said anything about sparring?” he held up his hands in surrender. “Do you not usually take your horse out for a ride at some point during the day? I was hoping to join you.”

“You have been to the nearby forest several times,” she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Why?”

His smile didn’t quite leave his face, but his tone lowered and became serious. “If I am honest, I was planning to go anyway. We just finished our rotation in the Woodland Realm, and some time among healthy trees would restore me.”

She crossed her arms. “You are not a Silvan; surely the sickness in my land would not affect you as much as my folk?”

“I am an _Elf,_ Tauriel,” he said stiffly. “How could I not see the suffering of those good trees and not mourn?”

Tauriel’s shoulders drooped as she sighed. “My apologies; I should not make such assumptions. As it happens, I was on my way to the stables, and you may accompany me, if you like.”

“I would like that very much,” Vildan’s face brightened.

Tauriel’s horse shared the same sire and dam as Turamarth’s beloved horse. While _Sandastan _was a buckskin, a light beige with a black mane and tail, this stallion was a reddish-brown, and sported a wide blaze down his face, and two stockings on his back feet. When she entered the stables, he was nuzzling his brother’s nose, as if in a silent conversation, but when a small gust of wind carried her scent to him, he turned his head and greeted her with a joyous neigh.

_“Gwannas lû and,_ _Mellon nîn_,” Tauriel grinned, as she gently lifted his head and blew several short breath into his nostrils.

“Not many people know to do that,” Vildan observed, as he tilted his head.

“Maybe where you are from,” she said, “but every Elf from my lands is taught to respect every creature’s customs and mannerisms.”

After stroking his soft, nose, she pulled a carrot out of her pocket with a smile. “I know what you want.” After the stallion gobbled it up, he rubbed his head over her upper arm so roughly, she had to adjust her stance and brace herself. “You are in a good mood,” she laughed as she stroked his velvet nose. 

“What is his name?” Vildan asked, as he patted the big horse’s neck.

_“Lasbelin_,” Tauriel said. “He looks like the color of the leaves in Autumn.” She looked around the barn. “Where is your horse?”

“Not in the Royal Stables, of course. _Mistanâr_ is with the others in the barn by the barracks.”

Tauriel lifted an eyebrow with a small smile. “You named him ‘Straying Rat?”

_“’He’_ is a _she,”_ he shrugged, lightly. “Since she learned to walk, she never liked to stay in the fields with her mother, and liked to run off and explore. _“Ai…”_ he rolled his eyes, “I cannot tell you how many times we had to search for her. She could escape the fences, and even learned how to open the gates in the barns! I lost my temper with her after her third escape in a week and called her thus.” He shrugged. “It stuck.”

“I think I like her already,” she smirked. “Why did you follow me here, if your horse is over there?”

“You invited me to accompany you,” Vildan replied, as the corner of his mouth turned up. 

Tauriel murmured a curse under her breath, then said, “I will get him saddled up, and meet you by the South Gates?”

“As you wish, My Lady,” he said, and with a salute.

“Do not call me—!”

But he was off.

An hour into their ride, they reached Tauriel’s favorite place. 

“It is magnificent,” Vildan murmured, as he took in the sight of the giant Willow. His eyes swept upwards, to the thick limbs, and the curtains of small leaves that swayed in the breeze, yet offered shelter and shade to those who desired it.

Tauriel dismounted and after hobbling _Lasbelin_, she gave him an apple and sent him to graze. “Most of my Elven friends prefer to ride to the West, toward the Woodland Realm, but I… found myself heading South during my first summer in Dale, and discovered this place.

“Do you take all your new friends here?” he asked as he took care of _Mistanâr_. “Now, please stay here, _Vuin_ _nîn_, and do not chew through your lead this time,” he stroked her dark face. 

They approached the trunk of the tree, and after offering to carry the satchel Tauriel had brought, he followed her up until they were both seated high in the tree, each resting comfortably on a wide limbs and resting against the trunk.

“Your horse is rather remarkable,” Tauriel observed. “She has a black face yet her body almost “shimmers” when she moves.”

“That is because the hairs on her body are light grey, with black tips. All the horses that came out of _Gildin,_ the horse Lord Glorfindel brought with him from Aman bear these markings. Though his stallion has long gone to his rest, his descendants continue to bring us a bit of the beauty from Valinor.”

“I am surprised all of your Vanguards do not ride such an animal. She is beautiful.”

“She certainly is, and she knows it. A horse like her requires a great deal of effort and vigilance, not because she is hard to train; the opposite is true, in fact. She is strong-willed, and thinks she knows what is best for me. _Mistanâr_ has a bit of the intelligence of her great-great-grandsire, and she likes to create mischief! My father was fortunate enough to have one; _Mistanâr_ is his daughter, and though she challenges me to near-madness, I love her dearly.”

The Ellon’s face softened, as he spoke lovingly about his horse, and decided he might not be as annoying as she originally thought.

She shook herself from her thoughts, and changed the subject. “Are you hungry? Cook usually packs much more than I could ever eat…” She unbuckled the strap and saw not the usual two paper-wrapped packets, but four. 

And there were two wineskins…

“Vildan?”

“Yes?”

_“Who_ told you it was my day off?”

“Legolas.”

“Did you ask him?”

Vildan shook his head. “He was at the Tavern last evening and said you might like some company on your ride, today.”

“This wasn’t… your idea?” she asked slowly.

“Well… not exactly,” he admitted. “But when he suggested it to me, I liked it very much. I had always assumed you prefer your own company, so…”

“I do,” Tauriel gritted her teeth, as she peeked into the packets. “I do not suppose you like chicken sandwiches, with lettuce?”

“Yes, but…” he bit his lip. “Is there honeyed mustard on them?” he asked hopefully.

She peeked inside again. “There is.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are certain you were not part of this scheme?”

“No!” he shook his head. “I did want to ride with you and get to know you better, but I promise—”

“I believe you,” she pulled out two of the sandwiches and handed them over to him, then opened the second wineskin and sniffed. “I believe this is yours, as well.” She took a small taste. _“Miruvor,_ I believe, is your favorite drink?”

“It is…” he took it, “but I did not speak to your Cook; how did he know all this?”

“Because my foster-brother arranged it, I am sure. It seems,” she unwrapped her cheese and sweetbread, “you and I have been set up.”

“Set up to do what?” Vildan eyed his meal with relish, then took a large bite.

“I think Legolas spent too much time with Mithrandir,” Tauriel gritted her teeth. “Obviously, he fancies himself a matchmaker.”

The Vanguard choked on his food. 

“Easy, now,” her voice was casual, as she spread the cheese over the slices. “I do not wish to drag your corpse all the way back to Dale. It is my day off, you know.”

After several rounds of coughing, he opened his wineskin and took a long drink.

“Match…_ You?”_ Vildan swallowed, and his eyes filled with horror. “You cannot be serious!” 

Tauriel suppressed a smile. “I am sorry you find the idea so repulsive.” 

“What? Oh, no; I do mean it like that!” he sputtered. “It is just that… Do you know what will happen to me if my Commander thinks I am courting the daughter of the King without permission? Lord Thranduil will have my head, and Rahlen will be holding the blade!”

“Then eat hardy while you can; if Cook hears you have wasted his good meal, he will be sure to help ensure your death.”

Vildan’s jaw dropped. “Your lack of concern for my well-being is a comfort.”

“I do not worry about your well-being,” she replied, as she finished her bread and cheese, then began to cut up an apple. “Legolas, on the other hand, will bleed like a stick pig when I run him through.”

The _Ellon_ threw back his head and laughed. After starting in on his second sandwich, he paused and said, softly, “Truly, I mean no insult, Tauriel. I… heard about your friendship with the Dwarven Prince—”

Tauriel’s jaw set and she glared. “That is none of your business!”

“I understand that,” he quickly assured her, “and once I say this, we need never speak of it again. The idea of Legolas pushing us together is… disrespectful to you. I met Prince Kili when he and the company came to Rivendell, and we spoke a little.”

“Really?” Tauriel’s heart lurched, but the sharp stab of grief she expected seemed a bit milder. 

“It is true. I was practicing on our Archery Range, one afternoon, and he showed up with his bow and arrow. I found him to rather pleasant, rather less dour than his Uncle. He spoke of his family, mostly about his mother, who worried for him, for them all, but she did not try to stop them.”

“I know,” Tauriel sighed. “She told me.”

“You have met the Lady Dís, then.”

“She and I are very close. At first, we were united in our mutual grief, but now for our own sakes. I admire her: she is a formidable Dwarrow.”

“Perhaps,” Vildan caught the apple she threw him. “Elrond respects her, and there is no better judge of character, to be sure.” He took a bite of the apple and chewed thoughtfully, as he relaxed his head against the tree.

“I half-expected you to disapprove of my relationship to Kili,” she ventured. “Many of our people do.”

“And many would disapprove of your father’s marriage to a human,” he shrugged. “What does it matter? What would have happened had you and Kili not been…friends? Stories of your brave deeds did not go unnoticed by the world, Tauriel; who would not want to know you better?”

“Why I am so interesting to you? If it has nothing to do with the _Ehtë Raumo_, why are we here?”

“Before this,” he reached up and ran his hand over the branch above him, “I spent my entire life in Imladris, and wanted nothing more than to stay there, safely tucked away in the Valley until Lord Elrond chose to sail. I had not even been to Lothlórien! Before I knew of you, I cared little for the fate of other races. After the Battle, Mithrandir came and told us everything that happened. When I heard your story, it inspired me to want to come to the North, not only to meet this brave _Elleth_ he spoke of, but to understand why we should all work together, why we should try to save Middle Earth.”

Tauriel was stunned, and a bit embarrased. “And have I… has the world lived up to your expectations?”

“Yes, and no. Lothlórien was very beautiful, but I arrived shortly after the dangers and remnants of the shadow remained. And, as you know, _Mirkwood_ lived up to it’s nickname, though I am told things have greatly improved.”

“Please do not call it that; especially before my _Adar_,” Tauriel reminded him.

“I did not mean it as a slight; nor do I think Lord Celeborn intended so when he called it thus. _Ai gorgor! _To see a living, breathing place suffer so! _‘Û, Law,’_ I cried to Elladan, when I first saw it, ‘how do the Silvans stand it?’ I asked him. Then Lord Thranduil explained to Evranin about Radagast’s services and it made sense.”

“Had he not done so, the Woodland Realm would have fallen,” she agreed.

“I agree. The Wardens who spent a year in service to the North spoke so highly of you all, it solidified my desire to come.” He gave Tauriel a sidelong glance. “It was my idea for the Vanguard to stay, you know.”

“I see,” she smirked. “I imagine it took a great deal of persuasion.”

“Not at all, My Lady; we are Vanguard, protector of the Lord of Imladris, whose wisdom has obviously rubbed off on his people. Only an arrogant fool would turn down such an opportunity as this!”

“You do have a gift for flattery!” she laughed. 

“Flattery? You wound me, Princess,” he clapped his hand over his heart.

“I am not a Princess,” she reminded him. “I am only the King’s foster-daughter.”

Vildan shifted on the limb to face her. “Royalty is more than blood, Tauriel. You are beloved by the Kings of Dale and the Woodland Realm, who call you daughter. You are beloved by everyone in Dale, and even the Dwarves hold you in the highest esteem. You lead by example, and that makes you as worthy of the title as the rest of your family. Please, _Mellon nîn_: never say again you are ‘only this’ or ‘only that.’”

Tauriel was stunned. Her vision suddenly swam, and she had to purse her lips to keep them from trembling. “Thank you,” she said at last. “I would like to be your friend, if that is your wish.”

The _Ellon_ suddenly grinned, lightening the mood. “Does that mean you will spar with me?”

She threw her apple core at him, and rolled her eyes.

***************

**LETTERS**

**To: Evranin, daughter of Óhtar**

**Palace of the Woodland Realm **

**27th of November 2944 T.A.:**

_Suilon, Evvy,_

_It is my fervent hope that this letter finds you well and happy. My mother and Aunt wrote me recently and tell me you spend a great deal of time with the foster-children from Dale, and that you share meals with my parents frequently. They report that you seem relaxed and have settled into your life there nicely._

_I wrote you several weeks ago, and I must assume the letter became lost, as I have received no reply. If you have changed your mind and decided you would rather not receive any more correspondence from me, please let me know, and I will bother you no longer._

_That is not to say that I do not wish you well, Evvy; though things beyond our control might jeopardize our friendship, never doubt that it was something I wanted._

_More and more, my mind travels back to the morning with my nephew, do you remember? While my childcare skills were less than impressive, I hope you will look upon me kindly, for I enjoyed it more than you know. I hope when you next visit Dale, you might agree to take another walk through that park, and perhaps we finally have a chance to get to know one another a bit more._

_Please extend my kind wishes to your family when you write them; Daeron speaks highly of them, and I liked your brother Orlin very much._

_With warmest regards, I remain_

_Your servant, _

_Turamarth_

**To: Captain Ómar, Guardian of the Woodland Realm**

**Lady Indis, Counselor to King Thranduil’s Army**

**Palace of the Woodland Realm**

**27th of November 2944 T.A.**

_Dearest Ada:_

_I continue to improve, though not nearly as rapidly as I would like. Daeron tells me my impatience is a good sign, but I do not know how to handle this… restlessness! _

_Upon Lord Elrond’s recommendation, I know you and Nana have kept a respectful distance, since I came home, though I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for you._

_I need to see you, to spend some time with you both; might I have your permission to ask Lord Thranduil if you might come to Dale for a few weeks?_

_I have another favor to ask, if you would; I have written to Evranin twice, and have yet to receive a reply. Could you make sure she is well? To be honest, I have heard disturbing things about her friendship with Saeros, and while I do not have any interest in nursing old grudges, I cannot help but worry that her lack of response has something to do with him._

_With all my love, I remain_

_Your devoted son, _

_Turamarth_

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Lasbelin_ – “Autumn.” Tauriel named her horse after the reddish-gold leaves in the fall.

_Mistanâr_ – Wandering Mouse.” Vildan’s Grullo-colored mare.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel and Vildan’s picnic in the trees ends with in a dramatic, er... climax.
> 
> The King’s night is interrupted, as a secret is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I must thank Golden for the wonderful lyric suggestion! 💋💋💋

_“I don't get many things right the first time,_

_In fact, I am told that a lot_

_Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles,_

_And falls brought me here_

_And where was I before the day_

_That I first saw your lovely face…”_

** _ The Luckiest,  _ ** _ by **Ben Folds** _

**City of Dale, 24th of November 2944 T.A.**

Vildan and Tauriel spent the next few hours reminiscing about their childhoods: his at Imladris, and hers at the Palace. 

“I am sorry your birth parents were killed,” Vildan’s eyes were sympathetic.

“I am, as well. I do not remember them, which I suppose was a mercy, and I will see them one day. My nanny, Núriel sailed a century or so ago, and I am sure she is telling them all about me.”

“That must be a great comfort.”

“Very much so. I was blessed to have her and Galion, and _Ada_ was always there, though he was terribly busy. That does not mean he ignored me,” she was quick to add. “If I woke in the night with terrors, it was Ada who reached me first. Núriel and Legolas said it was only he who could calm me when I was a baby, and I have memories of him walking up and down the hall as he whispered and sang…” she looked off into space. “Neldor and Solana will be pleased to know that.”

“I am sure they are,” Vildan’s eyes softened. “My own parents are in Valinor now.”

“Did something happen?” A stab of sympathy pierced her heart.

“Nothing so dramatic,” he shrugged, as he reached up and absent-mindedly loosened the tie in his hair and let it fall loosely around his shoulders. “_Adar_ and _Naneth _felt their work here was done. They had accomplished all they set out to do in Middle Earth, and decided to sail a few years ago.” Vildan was silent for a few moments. “I was happy for them, but I miss them; I think that is another reason I was so eager for travel.”

“Have you no other family here?”

“My older sister remains in Rivendell.” 

“How much older?”

“Let us see… I turned eight-hundred-twenty-six while we were in Lothlórien, and she is about four hundred years older…”

“That is the same difference between Legolas and me. He was out on patrol much of my childhood, but he came back to see me every chance he could. What is her name?”

“Meássë, and she is married to and Elf named Narseg. I like him; he is good to her, and they have a small daughter named Melui.”

“‘Sweet?’” Tauriel smiled. “Does she live up to the name?”

“She does,” Vildan’s eyes lit up. Melui has silver hair, like my mother, and the biggest, bluest eyes I have ever seen. I think she takes after me, which means,” he grinned, “her favorite uncle refuses her nothing. Meássë told me she was glad I was leaving; little Melui was becoming spoiled.”

“Oh, I am sure she did not mean it.”

“I know.” He nodded. “It was hard to say goodbye. Melui wanted to come with me, and that was a bit traumatic.”

“How old is she?”

“Almost twelve and she is adorable. I bought some jewelry from the Dwarves to send to them: a little necklace for the baby, and some sapphire earrings for my sister.”

“I am sure they will love them.” Tauriel sat up straight and said, “I am… not angry anymore that Legolas orchestrated all this,” she skewered him with a look, “but if you tell him that, I will deny it.”

Vildan curled his lips inward, to hide his smile. “Should we find a way to exact our revenge?”

She considered, with a small smile. “I like the sound of that. We can make our plans on the ride back.”

“That will be a pleasure,” Vildan finished his apple, tossed the core away, and drank the last of the wine from the skin before closing it up. 

They dropped gracefully from the Willow’s branches, and took a few moments to pat the trunk of the tree to extend their thanks, then looked around for their horses.

Which were gone.

“I do not understand,” Tauriel’s lips pursed in annoyance. “How did they…”

“Ah,” Vildan picked up the pieces of chewed rope. _“Mistanâr_’s handiwork, no doubt.” He threw them down in frustration, put two fingers in his mouth and let out a ear-splitting whistle.

“I have always wanted to learn how to do that,” she chuckled. “I can manage all the bird calls for the Guardians, but those are subtle, and meant to be so.”

“My sister taught me how to do it when I was very young. It is easy; let me show you,” he took a step towards her. “You put your thumb and forefinger together, like so, then lick your lips and pull them over your teeth; now put your fingers in your mouth and push your tongue back…”

“Wike thiss?” Tauriel asked, her voice muffled.

“No; you need to…” he put his fingers over hers and began adjusting them. “It—”

They stood frozen, gazing into each other’s eyes, for several long moments. Suddenly Vildan shook himself and dropped his hand. _“Díheno nin, Hiril nîn;_ I did not mean to become so familiar.”

“Apology accepted.” Tauriel her herself squeak. Annoyed, she made a big show of looking around. “I have no idea where they have gone; it is not like _Lasbelin_ to behave like this; he is…” And she walked away as fast as her legs could carry her.

Vildan followed, and they remained quiet as they walked up a small hill. But when the two Elves reached the top, and looked down upon the other side—

“What,” Vildan ground out, “is _your_ stallion doing to _my_ mare?”

“You cannot be serious!” Tauriel whirled around and spat. “Why did you not tell me your mare was in season! It is your responsibility to—”

“I did not tell you because she was not!”

“Well, obviously she is and you never bothered to check,” Tauriel’s cheeks flamed. “Did you not think to put her under the _Nuitha-luith_ before you came?”

“Of course, I did!” Vildan’s face was beet red. “How dare you accuse me of not looking after my—”

“Accuse you? Look at the two of them! After you brag on and on about her bloodlines—"

“Because I am proud of them, and of her! And she was _not_ in season! Do you think I am so irresponsible as to allow just any stallion near her without a spell?”

Tauriel’s jaw dropped. “’Just any?’ Now you are insulting my horse? I will have you know the King himself supervised his breeding and was present at his—”

“I do not care if he serviced the mare himself! That horse’s chosen mate is back in Rivendell—”

Furious beyond reason, Tauriel and slapped him across the face. Hard. Then she slapped him again. “You will never, _and I mean never_ make such a crude remark about my father, do you hear me?” she spat at him. “That is an order, Lieutenant!”

Vildan, stunned into silence, swallowed, as he slowly reached up to touch his face. “I…,” he whispered, before he masked his features, and stood at attention. “My deepest apologies to you and King Thranduil, Captain. It was wrong of me to say what I did.”

A satisfied grunt interrupted their exchange. They glanced down the hill to see _Lasbelin_ had obviously finished and was basking in exhausted bliss. 

“I obviously cannot ride him fast for a time,” she rolled her eyes disgust at _Lasbelin_. “You do not have to wait; if your horse is ready to ride, go ahead. I will catch up, as soon as mine is rested.”

“I cannot leave you alone without an escort,” Vildan’s full, dark brows drew together and his eyes blazed. “It would be _irresponsible.”_

Before she could come up with a crushing reply, the Lieutenant turned his back and walked down the hill to catch his mare. 

Not another word passed between them, as they walked their horses during the long, silent trip home. Tauriel bit her lip, and refused to think about what had happened, or the terrible turmoil in her heart. 

Or the tears that sprung to her eyes. Three times.

After dinner that evening, Legolas couldn’t stand it anymore and asked her how her ride went.

“It went,” she glared at him. Then she went into her room and burst into tears.

***************

**City of Dale, 30th of November 2944 T.A.**

No matter how many times Da had told Sigrid she shouldn’t worry about the family, that it was his job to look after things, she did. 

Ever since Mam died, she stubbornly helped look after Bain, gave Tilda all the attention and love she could, until Da recovered from his loss. Auntie Hil and Uncle Percy came over almost every day, to make sure they all were warm and eating and getting enough rest. Oftentimes, she’d see Uncle Percy quietly put his hand on Da’s shoulder, or ask him to go out on his boat for a while.

Sometimes, when he thought everyone was asleep, she would peek down from the loft, where her and Bain’s beds were, and see Da at the table with his head buried in his hands, weeping. He never knew. He also didn’t know how often she would pull the covers over her head and cry, too. Oh, she missed her Mam! For a long time, it was a sharp pain, and even now, there was a dull ache that never went away. 

Sometimes, in her dreams, she’d be sitting on Mam’s lap and could feel long, slender fingers running through her hair as she braided it. When Mam had finished tying it off, she’d pull Sigrid back and wrap her arms around her, kissing her neck until they both giggled.

Mam always sang. During the days, when she washed the dishes, or cooked supper, she’d hum a pretty song, while Sigrid rocked her doll to sleep. In the evenings, after Mam and Da kissed her and Bain goodnight, she’d sneak to the railing of the loft and watch them, as they sat in front of the cookstove that kept them all warm.

“Sing for me,” Da would say softly. And Mam’s voice floated through the airto wrap the whole house in a safe, warm cocoon. “When I get married,” she whispered to her doll, “I’m going to have a man just like Da.”

Then Mam and Da told her they she was going to have a new little brother or sister. Sigrid was thrilled; a baby was much more fun than a doll! But Mam became pale, and tired all the time.

Suddenly, she was gone, and it was Da who was pale and tired all the time. 

The day after Mam died, Sigrid slipped outside, and quietly dropped her doll into the water, and watched it floated away, along with the rest of her happiness. 

She told no one, and Da was too full of grief to notice. Not even Auntie Hil asked about it, because there was a brand-new baby, who desperately needed milk. Hannah found another nursing mother, and they decided it would be easier to just let the baby stay with the other family for now. But Da couldn’t stand to be parted from her, so after a few weeks they managed to get Tilda to tolerate goat’s milk. She was carried home, and Da could get a little sleep. For that first year, he clung to the baby like a lifeline, and Sigrid understood; if he had held on to her or Bain like that, it would have been distressing, but Tilda and Da both needed it.

Since he had gotten remarried, Da had blossomed. The layers of sadness, worry, and exhaustion that had dogged his every step was gone, and this new father had emerged. In some ways he was a stranger to her; she hadn’t been used to seeing him smile and laugh so openly like this, or his greenish eyes dance. He whistled, now. 

A weight had lifted for herself, too. 

Sigrid had been an excellent student, when she attended school in the Woodland Realm, and for the two years after in Dale.

Thanks to Mam, Da, and Auntie Hil, she was given the best education that could be had in Laketown, though supplies such as paper and ink were in short supply. Books – new books – were a rarity; the few she could get her hands were devoured until they were almost memorized. Learning was a joy, and when she discovered all the treasures in her new _Ada’s_ library… Well, it had been yet another blessing he had brought into her life. 

When she turned eighteen, Da urged her to take the entire summer off, to do as she pleased.

“Think of it as a reward for helping me all those years,” he told her. “You’ve never had a carefree childhood, so this is my gift to you. You’ll never have another chance.”

It was surprisingly easy, and she had enjoyed it, but the first day she reported for duty at the Healing Hall, her stomach quivered with excitement. Lord Elrond was going to be one of her instructors!

Sigrid had believed that Elves used healing magic for everything, but when she helped in the tents after the Battle, she quickly learned differently. Elves were impervious to disease, but not to injury or poison. They benefitted from herbal remedies like Men or Dwarves, but their dosages and mixtures must be different.

The Elf Lord did not go easy on her; he assigned passages in his books for her to commit to memory then rigorously quizzed her, corrected her, and insisted that she not only learn human medicine, but many of the procedures Elves use. She was surprised at how often these treatments were the same. 

“And what is the dosage for Men?” Elrond would ask. “And for Elves? Dwarves?”

Sigrid was determined to take as much advantage of his tutelage as possible, and constantly asked him questions. He smiled and chided her one evening, while the family had gathered.

“My dear child,” he patted her hand with a smile,” a Healer sees people at their most vulnerable, and that is a powerful thing. It is rewarding, yes, but it is also draining. Take time every day to rest. Make sure to feed your heart and soul, Sigrid, and this will keep you strong.”

After Lord Elrond left, Elénaril took over as her main instructor, along with Hannah and Daeron. She worked from the moment she arrived, until nearly supper, and was in charge of the Hall’s herbal gardens.

Sigrid knew little of plants or planting, but with Rhian’s help, and a book from _Ada’s_ library, they planned the space to best accommodate each plant’s need for the sun, and all this week, Sigrid had been busy with her hands in the dirt planting Orris root, for pain, and covering some of the other beds.

Tonight, her back was a bit sore, and she couldn’t get comfortable. Frustrated, she sat up with a sigh and reached for her robe and slippers and went out. After using the necessary, Sigrid thought she might pop down into the kitchens and make herself a cup of chamomile tea; if she cleaned up meticulously, Cook shouldn’t mind.

Cup in hand, she blew over the steaming liquid as she reached the bottom of the Grand Staircase, looked and saw two figures whispering as they headed toward the Royal Wing.

What was Daeron doing here?

Careful not to spill, she hurried up the steps. Light filtered through the open door of Da and _Ada’s_ chambers, and Da sounded upset.

_Oh, stars… _

Did something happen?

Her heart thumped against her ribs, as she hurried to the end of the hall, through the doors and past the chairs by the fire.

Dior was standing at the foot of the bed, Da was sitting up looking over to his left with a concerned look on his face, as Daeron was leaned over _Ada_—

The cup smashed to the floor, forgotten. Her hands flew to her mouth as she screamed.

All went grey, then black.

***************

  
For the third time in two hours, Bard was woken by his husband’s restless tossing and turning. Sighing, he rolled over and rested his head on Thranduil’s shoulder, but pulled back when he flinched, and inhaled sharply through his teeth.

His eyes flew open wide and he sat up and lit the lamp. “What’s wrong, love? Did I hurt you?”

The Elf grimaced. “I know you did not mean to, _Meleth nîn_. It is nothing to worry about.” His voice was stiff, and he moved his jaw as little as possible.

“Stop,” the Bowman said, firmly. “You clearly are in pain, and we need to get to the bottom of it!” He tilted his head and scrutinized him. “It’s your face, isn’t it? What’s going on?”

“It is nothing. I was not looking where I was going this afternoon, and bumped into the doorway to my study. It happens, sometimes.”

“But you told me your Elven eyesight compensates for such things; how did this happen?”

“I have long made it a habit to enter or exit a room close to the right side of the doorway, or if we are together, I feel better if you are walking on my left.”

“I know that, and I make sure I do,” Bard’s eyebrows lowered and pulled together. “So, what happened?”

“I was reading a paper, as I walked, which is my own fault for doing so. Most of the time, it does not bother me, but I must have done more damage than I originally thought. Please; do not be too concerned.”

“I’ll be the judge of that; what do you normally do for such things?”

“It lasts for a few days, and I usually have to take a bit of poppy juice in some willow bark tea.”

“You mean, there isn’t any kind of spell that can help?” Bard demanded. “Didn’t Elrond examine you when he was here?”

“He and Galadriel did so when I was in Lothlórien.” The Elvenking sighed, and carefully licked his lips. “They both agreed things have not gotten any worse, but they will not get any better; not until I go to Valinor. I was burned by a creature of Melkor, Bard; not even their combined powers can cure those injuries.”

“All right,” Bard took his hand and kissed it. “We’ll get you some help.”

“I had planned on summoning Daeron in the morning—”

“Well, I’m not going to let you just lie here suffering.” Bard slid over the side of the bed and pulled on his pajamas and robe. “I’m getting him now.”

“But _Meleth nîn_…” Thranduil protested weakly.

“No arguments,” he shook his head and went the door of their bedchamber.

Captain Dior was on duty, and he quickly approached the King of Dale. “Are you well, _Hîr nîn?”_

“I am, but Thranduil is not. I need you to go get Daeron and bring him here.”

The Elf’s eyes widened in alarm. “_Ai gorgor!”_ and raced into the bedroom, with Bard following behind. “_Chín harn_, _Aran nîn?” _His hand was reflexively on his sword hilt.

Thranduil sat up, and raised his hand to calm his guard. _“I iaur harn o Rurlug lhûg, Hest. _I am in no danger, but my husband would like to have me seen immediately.”

Bard met Dior’s eyes with determination. “He will be seen, right away, and no arguments.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the Elf bowed and saluted. “I will send someone immediately.”

After the guard left, Bard went over to Thranduil’s side of the bed. “Let me help you get some night clothes on, love. Or at least a robe.”

“I can do this myself; I am not crippled,” the Elf snapped. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. “Forgive me, _Meleth nîn_. I do not mean it.”

“I know you’re in pain. Just let me fuss; it makes me feel better.”

“Very well,” Thranduil inched forward gingerly to sit up straighter. “Please just give me the robe and bottoms; it will be better if I do not have a shirt.”

“Sounds good. Let’s just get you up for a minute, and we’ll put this on,” Bard grabbed his hands and pulled him up, and helped him dress. “There you go; let’s get you back into bed…” he sat the Elf back down against the headboard and pulled the covers up to his hips. “Better?”

“Thank you,” Thranduil said, in a thin voice. “I… it is better if I do not talk.”

“Then don’t.” Bard sat on the edge of the bed to face him, and took his hand. “I have some questions, so just give my hand a squeeze if the answer is yes, all right?’

The Elvenking’s responded by tightening his grip.

“Good. Now, you said this has happened before?”

_Yes._

“Often?”

No response, as the Elf leaned his head back. 

“Just every year or so?”

Nothing.

Bard chuckled. “Every couple of years? Every couple of decades? It must be, since you’ve never been like this while we’ve been together.”

_Yes._

“Right,” he blew out his breath. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Thranduil shook his head ever-so slightly, but with pleading eyes.

“You’d rather just wait for Daeron?”

_Yes._

Bard lifted his hand and kissed his palm. “I hate seeing you like this; the last time you were sick, I was laid up in a body cast right beside you. You’re always the strong one, not me.”

Thranduil shook their joined hands back and forth with a fierce expression, then pointed to the sketch paper on the table by the fireplace.

“What? You want to write?”

_Yes._

“Great idea; we can do that.” Bard went to their chairs and picked up the papers, grabbed a book to offer a surface and one of Thranduil’s pencils. 

“Nope; too thick…” he fumbled through the small bundle and picked up the one with the finest point. “That’s better.”

After taking it over to his husband, he waited patiently while the Elvenking rapidly wrote out a message. Then he handed it to Bard with an earnest expression.

_How many times did I cry in your arms in those weeks before we were married?_

“All right; we help each other, then.” Bard impulsively lifted his hand to brush away the hair from the Elf’s face, but then stopped and curled his fingers back. “I’m sorry, love, but you’ve got a lock of hair resting on your cheek. Is it alright if I take it off?”

At Thranduil’s nod, he leaned forward, and carefully caught it along his hairline and brushed it away from his forehead. Then he caressed the right side of his husband’s face. “Daeron will be here soon, and we’ll get you fixed up.” A thought struck Bard. “Can Elves heal themselves with a spell?”

Thranduil leaned into his hand and sighed sadly. Bard could feel from their bond that his touch was making the Elf feel better, so he kept it there. 

Then another thought struck Bard; something Daeron had told him after Alun’s and Rhys’s aunt killed herself during the Long Winter:

_“The hands of the King are the hands of a Healer, and so shall the rightful King be known…”_

And didn’t Elrond say something about his ancestry include an Elf?1

Bard closed his eyes, took a deep breath and sent as much comfort to his husband as he could. He pictured the pain, like waves of heat in the summer, and imagined it cooling off and floating away. _Relax,_ he silently told the muscles of Thranduil’s jaw and neck.

A moan of relief reached his ears, and he could feel his husband sink back into his pillows. 

“Did that really help?” Bard asked him.

Thranduil put his right hand over the one on his face and squeezed it. “Yes,” he whispered, not moving his lips.

“No talking, love. Just stay as relaxed as possible and we’ll think about something else.” He paused, then said, “we could talk about when Tilda was a baby. Would you like that?”

A squeeze.

“Did I ever tell you how she got the nickname ‘Little Bean?’ Well, it was right after she was born, and she was a good, quiet baby; nothing like Sigrid was,” he chuckled. “Bless her little heart… maybe the Valar knew another screamer would send us all over the edge; I don’t know. Or maybe it was because when she would start to fuss, Hilda came over and showed us all how to wrap her up into a blanket and make her feel safe. She called it ‘swaddling,’ but whatever it was, she loved it. Her favorite was a little brown blanket made from one of my old shirts, and it was Bain who said she looked like a little bean, from Auntie Hil’s soup! And it stuck,” he shrugged. 2

“I love all my kids, you know that, but I needed Tilda…” he swallowed. “I don’t want to think what that first year would have been like had she died with her mother. Even then, it took me a long time to feel like life could still be good. It was when she was almost a year old, and loved sea gulls. I think the first time I laughed again after losing Mattie was when she pointed to them and said, “Gaw! Gaw!” his lips formed a smile at the thought. “It was her first word.”

“Sigrid was always smart as a whip, you know. She walked at nine months; I don’t know when Elflings do that, but that’s early for a human baby. It was only a step or two, but you could have knocked us over with a feather; she just pulled herself up by the chair then Walked into my arms. She talked early, too.

“Bain didn’t walk until a few weeks after he turned a year old, and Mattie was getting anxious. Enid stopped by – she used to help watch the kids, if Hilda and Percy were busy – and said not to worry; when he finally decides to walk, he’ll just take off. And that’s what he did! He just let go of the furniture, and went clear across the room to his Mam.”

The Elf didn’t smile, but leaned into his hand again, with bright, affectionate eyes. 

They both turned their heads when at the sharp tap on the door.

“Come in!” Bard called.

Daeron entered, carrying his leather satchel. “I am told your scars pain you, My Lord?”

“More than he’s letting on,” Bard said, as he looked at his husband in concern. “He smacked his face today, and never said a word about it.”

The Elven Healer set his bag on the bottom of the bed, and stepped over to the King. “We had better take a look. Please sit up straight and lean forward,” he said, as he slipped the robe from Thranduil’s shoulders. “Are you ready, _Aran nîn?” _With a slight nod, the Elvenking leaned forward, his eyes closed in concentration. 

Bard grasped the bedpost and licked his lips nervously. He'd seen those scars a few times since they met, but they upset him more then he'd ever let on. Just the thought of his Elf in agony, with no real way to help him, tugged at his heart.

Slowly, the skin of Thranduil’s cheek disappeared, revealing the cavernous wounds, and the Bowman swallowed hard, as his throat began to hurt, but when the burns on his neck were revealed, he couldn’t stop the gasp the left his body.

Instantly Thranduil looked up, his one grey-blue eye, and one milky white were bulging, both in pain and in humiliation. A small whimper escaped, and through their bond, Bard could feel a terrible pulling in his chest.

“Oh, no, no,” Bard quickly went over to sit on his right, and took his hand. “I’m not disgusted, I promise. I just can’t stand to see you in such pain, love.” He kissed the palm, and rubbed it between his own. “It’ll be all right, once we’ll get you taken care of.”

“Please, _Hîr nîn_; you must calm yourself,” Daeron told Thranduil. “I must closely examine you, and you will do better if you can relax, as much as you can.”

“Deep breaths, love,” Bard said, in a soothing voice. “Focus on me...”

Just then, there was a flurry of footsteps, and Sigrid ran in, holding a cup.

“Darling, it’s not—“

The girl white as a ghost, and screamed.

“Oh, shit!!” Bard scrambled off the bed, just as Dior darted over to catch the girl, as she fainted. 

“Sssigg —” Thranduil tried to say, but pain was too great. _“Ahhh!”_

“Are you all right, love?” Bard called over to him.

“I have him,” Daeron said. “Please, My Lord; you must calm yourself. I cannot let you put the glamour back up, until I finish checking your scars for injuries. I will be as swift as I can…”

Bard helped Dior put Sigrid down on the rug before the fireplace and they put her feet on one of the chairs. He had just put a pillow under her head, when several guards rushed into the room.

Rahlen and Elladan entered, followed by Ivran, all ready to draw their weapons. 

“We heard screaming, My Lor—” Rahlen began, then stopped.

“I know of this,” Elladan told his colleague. “Say no more. Do you need help, Daeron?”

“If you want to help, tend to Sigrid. The rest of you: keep everyone out!”

But it was too late. Tauriel and Legolas had arrived, along with Bain and Thangon, who immediately jumped up on the bed and put his head in Thranduil’s lap, whining his sympathy.

Bain gasped. Tauriel blinked rapidly, and somehow managed to have the wherewithal to grab Bain and turn him around. “I do not know what is going on, but Daeron is tending to him, and we will—”

“_Ada?” _

Tilda was there, clutching Charlotte.

Her eyes were wide with shock, before her face disintegrated and she started to cry. Legolas dashed over to pick her up and turn her away.

“Do not worry, _Gwathel_,” he murmured and stroked the back of her head.

Thranduil turned ashen, as he tried to reach for his _Tithen Pen_.

Tilda’s response was to inhale and scream. “_Ada’s_ dying! _ADAAAAAAAAA!”_

“Bloody fuck!” Bard gritted his teeth. “Everyone, get out of here!” he bellowed. _“Now, dammit!” _

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Chín harn, Aran nîn? – _Are you hurt, My King?

_I iaur harn o Rurlug lhûg, Hest - _It is the old wound from the Dragon Rurlug, Captain.

_Lasbelin_ – “Autumn.” Tauriel named her horse after the reddish-gold leaves in the fall.

_Mistanâr_ – Wandering Mouse.” Vildan’s Grullo-colored mare.

_Nuitha-luith_ – Spell to prevent female animals from becoming pregnant. (lit. “to prevent from coming to completion-spell”)

_Díheno nin, Hiril nîn_ – Forgive me, My Lady

**NOTES:**

[1] _Legolas, Ion nîn_, Ch. 30: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/45534256>

[2] Ibid. Ch. 11: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/28410648>


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it looks like the cat’s out of the bag, and the whole family has seen Thranduil’s injuries…
> 
> What happens now?

**BEGINNING NOTE:**

Do you guys remember last year’s Holiday Story, “Performance Review,” when I mentioned to the gang that they had “Readers?" 

Well, last week, Thranduil and Bard asked for another meeting, and they had more than a few <strike>demands</strike> <strike>complaints</strike> questions....

> _“Why is it these people only want to talk to you? Why do they not want to speak to us?” the Elvenking demanded. _
> 
> _“I agree,” Bard nodded. “This doesn’t seem fair that **you** get all the credit and accolades, when **we** are the ones who have to act out whatever drama your sick mind can come up with!”_
> 
> _“Fair enough,” I spread my hands outward. “What do you suggest?”_
> 
> _“I would like to meet with these…” Thranduil paused, searching for the right word, “I do not know what you call them…” _
> 
> _“Readers? Fans?” I suggested, “Angels from Heaven who grace me with their time and effort?”_
> 
> _“Yep. Those ones,” Bard leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “These people should have a chance to meet us and ask **us** questions, don’t you think?”_
> 
> _“You mean, like a sort of ‘Comic Con?’”_
> 
> _“What is this… Comic thing?”_
> 
> _“It’s a conference where fans gather to meet up with each other, and meet their favorite actors and celebrities. The actors who play the characters sit up on a stage, while the fans – and some like to dress up – take turns asking them questions and such—”_
> 
> _“What kind of questions?” Bard asked warily._
> 
> _“Oh, just about any kind, really,” I answered. “They ask about the difficulties they might have participating in the stories, or what they might have been thinking, or what helps them. Sometimes they even ask who does their hair—”_
> 
> _“I would be happy to talk about my hair, and my skin regime,” Thranduil volunteered._
> 
> _“I thought you might,” I smiled into my fingers._
> 
> _“I like the sound of that,” Bard considered. “But if all the children will be there, ask the Readers to keep their questions rated for a Teen and Up Audience, please. I don’t want to traumatize Tilda.”_
> 
> _“I can ask, but you know I’ve gotten many compliments on “The Elf Thing.”_
> 
> _“And we are most grateful,” the Elvenking’s eyes brightened, “but reluctantly, I must side with my husband. None of our children want to hear about our sex life.” _
> 
> _“So… you’ll tell them, then?” Bard’s eyebrows lifted as he pressed the subject. _
> 
> _“I’ll tell them,” I promised._
> 
> _“Do you think they will want to do this?” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed._
> 
> _“Why not? They’ll get a free trip to Dale, and I think they’d have grand time!”_
> 
> _ “We could set something up in the ballroom here in the Castle,” Bard offered, “or, if there are a lot of participants, we could go over to the Great Hall. I’ll bet the folks of Dale would bring a Pot-Luck Supper for the readers, too.”_
> 
> _“It would be a great party!” I clasped my hands eagerly. “You’ll have to send a message to Gandalf. If he can arrange for a portal for so many people, we’ll do it!”_
> 
> “Ma no!”_ Thranduil beamed. “Please extend our invitation as soon as possible, and give them a forum to submit their questions…”_
> 
> _“I could ask them to leave them in the comments, or to sent them via a Private Message on tumblr—”_
> 
> _“Tumblr?”_
> 
> _“It’s a social media website, and there are tons of pictures of you and Bard on it. I am BeulahMae on there, and I’ll give them the URL <https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/beulahmae> _
> 
> _“Do that,” Bard ordered. “I think it’ll be fun, and the kids would love it! Hilda would love to meet them, too.”_
> 
> _“I’m due to post another chapter today, so I’ll let them know right away,” I grinned. “In fact, I’ve got to get back to it.” I rose from the conference table, and slid my laptop in my bag. “Gotta run, guys. See ya soon!”_

...and that's when I woke up...

So, per the King’s instructions, I am asking all of my readers to think about what they might want to ask. You can also heap praise on them (Lord Thranduil particularly wanted me to stress this point) and if you come along, there will be food, and lots of wine and Ale.   
  


Oh, and Tilda just told me she could be in charge of giving you all a tour, Lynne and Mona said they’ll have a special Yule Sale on their fabrics, and the Elves might let you watch them spar and shoot! Sound like fun?

Every character in Two Thrones will be participating—Men, Elves and Dwarves, so don’t be shy. If you need ideas, each part of Two Thrones has a character list.

I really hope you all want to do this, because I’d hate to have to come back to these guys and tell them the party’s off. Tilda will start to cry, and her _Ada_ will get mad, call his guards, and have me arrested, Gandalf will get involved and probably turn me into something unnatural, and it’ll all just turn into this _whoooole thing… 🙄🙄🙄_

~ ~ ~ ~

“When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

Oh, I hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love…”

** _ To Make You Feel My Love,  _ ** _ by** Bob Dylan** _

**City of Dale, 30th of November 2944 T.A.**

“Bloody fuck!” Bard gritted his teeth. “Everyone except Daeron get out of here!” he bellowed. _“Now, dammit! _Legolas!” he called over to his blonde stepson. “Tell them as soon as I get things straightened out in here, I’ll come and talk to you all. Don’t say anything until I get there; just keep telling them it’ll be all right, do you understand?”

“Yes, Bard!” Tilda was in Legolas’s arms, and screams only got louder. She reached out both hands to Bard as the blonde Elf took her out. 

“You heard your Da; he will explain. We must go and let them tend to _Ada_.” Tauriel had to put her arms around Bain’s chest and drag him away, kicking and screaming. Beside Bard, Sigrid was starting to stir with a soft moan.

“Elladan,” he hissed to the dark-haired Elf beside him. “Pick up Sigrid and take them all to the Sitting Room. And for fuck’s sake, somebody go get Galion; we need him here, _now!”_

After everyone exited, Bard closed the chamber doors and leaned his forehead against it for just a moment, to pray for strength before returning into the room. Thranduil was moaning softly as Daeron probed his face.

“I am sorry to cause you distress,” Daeron remained matter-of-fact, but his voice carried a tinge of sympathy, “but I think I see what happened. When you hit the corner of the wood doorframe, a tendon near your jaw was torn. That is why it hurts to talk. Thankfully, it is something I can fix, but I am going to have to place my fingers on it. It will feel much worse, before it feels better, I am afraid.”

The Elven Healer took several deep breaths, then carefully placed his fingers on the injury, and Thranduil cried out in agony. Tears ran down his face, unchecked, and when the salty tears hit his burns, he screamed.

“Here, love,” Bard rejoined them and grabbed the belt from his robe, and gently dabbed the skin near his injured eye. 

Softly, Daeron began to sing, until the light appeared. Instinctively, Bard placed his hand over Daeron’s wrist and gave them both all the aid he could. He closed his eyes and found himself joining in. Though he did not know the words, he hummed along, surprised that he could follow the melody.

After several moments, he could “see” the extent of the damage, and “watched” the tissue rejoin and become one again. Daeron carefully checked every bit of exposed flesh, to make sure all was as healed as it could be. It wasn’t much, but when they finished, they left Thranduil in much better condition than before.

For the very first time, Bard found himself looking forward to their voyage to Valinor. The idea of his love living with all this, for even one more day, broke his heart. 

After Daeron’s song was finished, the Elf picked up a glass jar and opened it. “This will help numb the pain. Master Óin makes sure I keep a good supply on hand for just such an emergency.” He placed a thick layer of ointment over his cheek, then said, “All right; you can put it back up again.”

Thranduil concentrated, but he was too upset, and another tormented whimper escaped him.

“Come on, love. Calm down,” Bard grabbed both his hands. “I’ll help.” The Bowman closed his eyes and sent as much as he could through his _Fëa_, offering strength and comfort and control. At last, the Elvenking managed it, before collapsing into Bard’s arms, keening softly.

“Shhh…” Bard rubbed back and held him. “The worst is over, now. You were so brave.”

“Between the ointment and the glamour, he should be feeling much better in a few minutes,” Daeron told Bard, as he washed his hands. He stepped over to the case at the foot of the bed. “I know Cook keeps a supply of Willow Bark on hand, but here is some Poppy Juice. Place three drops in his tea four times a day for the next week. He must absolutely abstain from any alcohol, and make sure he drinks plenty of water. He is to stay in bed for the next two days, and rest. I will stop by tomorrow – or this evening, rather – and check him, but for now, I would like him to get some sleep.”

Thranduil had calmed down some, but lay limp in Bard’s arms. “Are you going to use a spell on him?” the Bowman asked.

“Yes, but I am also going to give him a strong dose tonight. Daeron explained. “Injuries from Dragon’s blood are much like the sting from a Spider, or some poisoned blades: they ‘haunt’ the victim’s dreams, for want of a better word. After such an upset, I think he needs both.”

“Do whatever it takes to get him feeling better, yeah?” he stroked Thranduil’s hair. “You hear that?”

Thranduil nodded his head, and leaned it on Bard’s shoulder and began to cry.

“Oh, no! Are you still in pain?”

Thranduil shook his head and managed to say, “Did you see their faces, Bard? I f-frightened our children…” he sobbed out several rapid words in Sindarin. “They are repulsed by the sight of me!”

“Hey, hey, none of that…” Bard turned and placed a finger under his husband’s chin and lifted it to meet his eyes, now both a beautiful blue-grey. “They’re just shocked, that”s all, but we’ll explain, and it’ll be fine. They love you, Thranduil. They always will, you’ll see.”

“I think we should give him his medicine,” Daeron said quietly. “He will feel a bit better after he sleeps.” He offered a spoonful of the deep red syrup. “Two of these, please.”

Thranduil swallowed the red liquid, and grimaced at the taste. After downing a glass of water, Bard helped him out of his robe and settled him back, as he pulled up the covers. 

“Get yourself settled, and get some rest; I will see to the family. It’s going to be all right, love; I promise.”

The Elvenking nodded weakly. “Please… tell them I am so sorry.”

“There is nothing for you to be sorry about. “Close your eyes, now.” Bard leaned over and kissed his lips softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Daeron laid his hand on Thranduil’s forehead and softly sang the Elvenking to sleep. When his breaths were slow and even, Bard’s shoulders fell as he let out a huge sigh.

“Oh, what a fucking mess! Could that have gone any worse?”

“I doubt it,” Daeron lips pursed in sympathy. “I will stay with him while you speak to your family. I wish you luck, _Mellon nîn.”_

“Thanks for everything,” Bard clapped his hand on the Elf’s shoulder, and squeezed. “This means a lot.”

“If it helps, I will speak to the children as well.”

“If we need you, we’ll call, but in the meantime, you look after him. That’s the most important thing.”

Once he left their bedchamber, Bard sighed, as he heard sobs coming from the Sitting Room. _Oh no… _

He hurried into the room, where lamps and candles were lit, bathing the room in a soft calming glow. Percy was sitting next to Sigrid and Tilda was in Hilda’s lap, as she helped the little girl catch her breath from screaming in terror.

“We heard the commotion,” she explained to Bard, as she soothed the little girl. “Come on, Beanie. It’s all right, now.”

Tilda shrieked. “S-Somebody hurt _Ada!”_

“Settle down, baby,” Bard went and picked her up, and laid her head on his shoulder. “Legolas told you it was going to be all right, yeah? We’re going to tell you the whole story, but I want to wait until Uncle Galion gets here.”

“Will he die?”

“No, darling,” he looked over her shoulder at Tauriel, who was comforting Bain. “Are you all right?” She looked pale herself. “You didn’t know about this?”

The _Elleth_ shook her head and remained silent.

“What’s going on, Da?” Sigrid demanded.

“All this happened to _Ada_ a long time ago, and Uncle Galion was there, so it’s better if you hear it from him.”

“You have sent for him?” Tauriel asked.

“I have, and he should be here any minute. In the meantime, lets all get you something to drink, yeah?” he eyed the Elven guards and gave them a nod. “Wine for the adults, I think, and get some juice for the kids.”

“Right away, My Lord,” Elladan bowed and left.

A swish of fabric rustled around silent feet, as Galion ran in the room, closely followed by Rôgon. “Bard! What happened?”

“Oh, praise the Stars,” Hilda sighed. “Let me explain…” she took the Elven Aide by the elbow and went out into the hall to whisper.

Rôgon looked around. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just listen. You’re family, Rôg, so you should know, too.” Bard rubbed Tilda’s back as he looked around the room. “Now, I don’t normally allow any ‘Kinging’ up here in these rooms, but I’m about to make an exception. What you all are about to hear is Under Official Seal, is that understood? _No one_ is to speak of this except other members of the family, is that clear?” Bard met the eyes of everyone in the room, and made sure they responded.

“Yes, Da.” “Yes, Bard.” “Okay.”

“What about you, Beanie?” Bard lifted her head. “We’re going to tell you what happened, but you won’t say anything?”

“Uh huh,” Tilda nodded her head, snuffling. “But will _Ada_ always be sore like that?”

“It’s part of the story and you’ll understand in a few minutes. Now, let’s sit down and settle ourselves, and let Uncle Galion tell you, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Bard sat down in his chair and kept her in his lap, while Galion re-entered the room and took Thranduil’s chair. 

“Best to start at the beginning, I think,” Bard suggested. “If they’re going to learn about this, I want them to know just what _Ada_ sacrificed for his people.”

Rôgon came to sit on the arm of his chair and put his arm over the back, as Galion crossed his legs and took a deep breath. “Very well,” the Aide began. “I am sorry you all had to find this out in this manner, but I assure you, your _Ada_ has borne these since before the beginning of the Third age. You all know of the War of the Last Alliance, yes?”

“We studied it in school, when we lived at the Palace,” Bain offered. “_Ada_ was there, right?”

“Yes, and had he not been so brave, the entire Allied Army might have perished.” Galion took a breath. “You see, your _Adar_ received those wounds when he killed a Dragon.”

Bain sat up straighter. “It was from the Dragon? He told me a little bit about that, but I had no idea—” 1

“You knew?” Sigrid asked him, shocked.

“Well, only that he’d killed it, but he said he couldn’t talk about it. I had a nightmare at the Palace before Tilda got sick, remember? That’s when he told me, but he asked me not to say anything.”

“Your brother is right, _hênig; _Thranduil cannot talk about it, and I know you do not want to upset him, so you must never ask him, yes?”

Nods all the way around.

“It was over a year before the end of the war, and the Woodland Army was facing a horde of Orcs, when suddenly the enemy fled the field—”

“Why?” Tilda asked, her head leaning on Bard’s chest.

“Because they knew what was coming. You see, Sauron had released Rurlug, Terror of the Sky from Barad-dûr, to destroy everyone on that field. Your _Ada_ saw it, and…” he told the story of how Thranduil ordered his men to hold Feren back, climbed that hill and was prepared sacrificed his life to kill it. He told them how the two swords shone as the Elvenking did a forward somersault and drove them into his gut, then was consumed by fire. 2

“Feren broke free from his restraints and was the first to reach your _Adar_, thinking he was dead. By some miracle, he had survived, and we gave thanks many times that Lord Elrond himself could tend to him. Even so, it took months; thankfully Thranduil was asleep for most of it, or he would have been driven mad from the pain. The burns that covered most of his body were healed, but Thranduil had gotten som Dragon’s blood on his face and neck, and try as he might, nothing could help. It was Elrond who taught him how to keep up his glamour, and that was an arduous process. It covers those terrible wounds, yes, but it also keeps most of the pain away, so he can live.”

“They put him to sleep for months?” Sigrid’s jaw dropped.

“Six months, to be exact. Commander Feren took over leadership of the Woodland Army, and even after Thranduil woke up, he was never well enough to join the fighting.”

“What did he do, then?” Bain’s face was stricken.

“Kings Gil-Galad and Amroth, paid homage to your father, as well as King Elendil, and his son, Prince Isildur. They all knew Thranduil had saved the Alliance, and honored his sacrifice. All the Kings realized their only chance at victory was to work together, so they came to him in the Healing Tent, while he recuperated.”

“And we won.” Bain smiled.

“True, but not without great loss. Gil-Galad and Elendil were both killed, and it was only a last- minute stroke of fortune that allowed Isildur to pick up his father’s broken sword and cut the ring off Sauron’s hand.” Galion said, with a sigh. “Remember, Thranduil’s father, your grandfather Oropher, also lost his life in that War.”

“He must have been really sad,” Tilda’s eyes filled.

“Oh, he was, Little One; your _Ada _loved his father. Soon after, your _Adar_ and the Army rode home and mourned their dead. Thranduil worked hard to help the Woodland Realm heal, and some years later he met and married Queen Mírelen. He was very happy, for a long time, and when Legolas was born, he rejoiced in his new son.”

”Did she know about _Ada’s _wounds?” Sigrid asked.

”She did, and she completely accepted them, much like your Da did, when he first saw them.”

”When was that?” Bain eyed him, brows lifted in surprise.

”Before we were married,” Bard answered. “But I’m glad to know Mírelen understood, too.”

“But then she died, like my Mam,” Tilda frowned. “And he was sad again.”

“He was, yes,” Galion told them all. “It took all of _Ada’s_ effort not to fade from his grief, and though he did his best, he was deeply affected by the loss of his wife.”

“He was,” Legolas said, softly, as he and Tauriel’s eyes met.

“Da was sad, too,” Sigrid reminded Tilda, “but then he and _Ada_ met. We have a huge family now, with Legolas, and Tauriel and Uncle Galion. Now we have Uncle Rôg, too!”

“I am glad to be here with you all,” Rôgon smiled as he patted Galion’s shoulder.

“And don’t forget Auntie Hil and Uncle Percy!” the little girl sat up straighter as the worry left her face. “And the animals, too.”

“That’s right Beanie.” Bard tousled her hair.

“But you can’t fix _Ada’s_ face?” Tilda’s eyes were wide. “_Ada_ saved everybody, and he won’t ever get all the way better?”

“No, _Tithen Pen_; I am afraid he will not,” Galion sighed. “That is the nature of a sacrifice, is it not? Oropher taught your _Ada_ that he must always be ready to do what is necessary to serve his people.”

“And he sure did, didn’t he?” Bain shook his head. “He thought he was going to die, but he just did it anyway.”

“That is true, Bain,” Galion told the boy. “But you must know that your _Adar_ did not do this brave deed just out of duty. He did it because he loved our home and our people. Thranduil knew that if the dragon had lived, the Woodland Realm would eventually be no more.”

“I saw it happen,” Legolas said softly. “Galadriel showed it to me in her Mirror one night, and I could hardly bear it.” He looked over at Galion. “You were there with him, _Adanneth; _I saw you help him, as he recovered.” 3

“Yes,” the Aide nodded, and grasped the Rôg’s hand that rested on his shoulder. “He earned the love and respect of those in the Alliance, and that is why he is held in such high esteem by rulers of all the lands. And those of our people who were dubious about their young King, grew to love him for his sacrifice.”

“So, you’ve seen these scars?” Bain asked.

“From the first day, yes. I was with him every step of the way, when he had to learn to do many things over again.”

“And the scars don’t scare you?” Tilda lifted her head from Bard’s chest.

“Not at all, child. Those scars are the proof of _Ada’s_ love for the Free People of Middle Earth, that he was willing to die to save us.”

“I’ve seen them, too.” Hilda said. “Your Da took me aside and let me in on it, so if something happens, I could help.” 4

The woman eyed Tauriel. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” the _Elleth_ said softly. I had heard of the Dragon, of course, but why did no one tell me?”

“Because your _Ada_ was afraid, _Gwinïg_,” Galion said. “He struggled hard to be present for you and Legolas, and he was afraid you would turn away. He loved you enough to spare you that burden.”

“So…” Tilda sat up and wiped her eyes. “Daeron can make him feel better?”

“Yes, love, but only so much. But that’s why he needs us,” Bard ran his fingers through her hair. “How do you feel about all this?”

“I feel sad for _Ada_,” she wrinkled her face. “It’s not right he has to hurt like that.”

“Such things are never fair, I know.” Bard told her. “Do you remember Alis and Dafina’s Grandad? He lost his leg, and that wasn’t fair either, but they made him wooden one and he gets around pretty good, doesn’t he?”

“So, that… _gla_—”

_“’Glamour,’”_ Galion smiled.

“That _glamour_ is like Gruffudd’s wooden leg, so he can do things?”

“That’s right. And now I want to talk to you all about what happened a few minutes ago,” Bard shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “What _Ada_ did was brave, right?”

_“You_ were brave,” Bain said, with wide eyes. “You killed Smaug, too!”

“I did, with your help, but we were all lucky, weren’t we? All of us. We could have ended up dead, or scarred like _Ada_, but we don’t have that, do we?” 

“Oh, stars…” Sigrid started to cry. “I was awful to him, Da! I screamed and… he must be devastated! It’s just that I thought—”

“I know; you all thought someone had entered the Castle and attacked him.” Bard leaned forward. “But right now, you should know _Ada _is terrified.”

“Why?”

Bard adjusted Tilda in his lap, looked around the room again. “We need to put ourselves in _Ada’s_ place, and ask ourselves what he needs from us. If you were him, what would you be feeling right now?”

“I’d be scared you all might not want me, anymore,” Bain said. “That I’d be too ugly.”

“So, what should we do about it?” Bard prodded.

“Show him he’s still _Ada_,” the boy said. “Make sure he knows it doesn’t make any difference.”

“We all should do that,” Sigrid agreed.

“_Ada_ stayed up all night with me when I was sick,” Tilda said. “I even threw up all over, but he didn’t get mad or anything. He just helped me get clean. Then he helped me with my exercises and made sure I got better. I want to help him back.”

“That’s my sweet girl,” Bard smiled and booped her nose. “Remember what Galion said; _Ada _can’t talk about the Dragon’s attack. So, if you have questions, ask me or Galion privately, and we’ll answer them. So, what do you say, gang; suppose we prove to him these scars don’t matter, and we love him just as much?”

After there was agreement all the way around, Bard got up, and settled Tilda against his hip. “We’ll do that in the morning, then. In the meantime, how about we all try to get some sleep? I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.”

“I will come with you, for a moment, at least,” Galion stood. “I need to see him.”

“Absolutely,” Bard put his free hand on the Elf’s back. “You go on ahead, I’m going to say goodnight here.”

Hilda kissed Bard and Tilda. “I hate how they found out, but it’ll be better this way, I think.”

“I think so, too, Hil. Thranduil had planned to tell Tauriel soon, and each of the kids when they were fully grown, but I have faith in our Sea Monsters. They’re tougher than they give themselves credit for.”

“Well, if he asks, tell him I’m glad.”

“I will. Good night.”

Rôgon kissed the children, along with Hilda and Percy. “I will wait here for Galion.”

“Thanks, Rôg.”

“Can we see him, Da?” Sigrid pleaded. 

“He’s asleep right now, but you can come in for just a minute.”

“I would like to come, too, if that is all right,” Tauriel asked.

“Tell you what, gang; you all can come, but only if you don’t make any noise, all right?”

Bard led the small crowd down the hall, and they all silently filed into the bedchamber and stood around the bed.

“He looks the same,” Tilda whispered in his ear.

“And he will, unless he gets hurt, or very upset,” Bard murmured back. “But if it happens, you’ll be as brave as he was, right?”

“Right,” she solemnly promised. “He’s still _Ada_.”

“Good girl.”

Galion was speaking softly to Daeron in Sindarin, and Sigrid went over to join them. After a few moments, the Aide leaned down and kissed Thranduil’s forehead.

_“Losto si, Ionnauth nîn,”_ he said in a soft, loving voice, as he stroked his hair. To the others he said, “I will see you in the morning.”

“I appreciate this, Galion,” Bard said, as Tilda leaned forward to kiss the Elf.

“I will take care of clearing Thranduil’s schedule for the next few days.”

“I will help,” Legolas smiled at Galion. “Get some rest, _Adanneth_.”

“Now that you’ve seen him, it’s time to go back to bed,” Bard said quietly. “We’ve got about four hours until the sun comes up.”

  
After Daeron took his leave, Bard had been in bed less than ten minutes before the door opened again. “Da?”

“What, Beanie?”

Tilda ran into the room and crawled up onto the bed. “I want to be with you and _Ada_.”

“All right, just don’t bump his face, love.” Bard helped her crawl over him, and she settled against Thranduil’s right side, and hugged his arm. “Better?”

“Uh huh,” she yawned. “I’m sorry I hurt his feelings.”

“I know you didn’t mean it, love, and when he wakes up, you can tell him. But you really need to get some sleep.”

A few minutes later, the door opened again…

***************

**1st of December 2944 T.A.**

Thranduil’s eyelids felt weighted down, but after several attempts, he managed to squint into the morning light. He smacked his lips and made himself swallow to moisten his dry mouth, but it did little good. What—

_Ai, gorgor!_ The flood of memories crashed over him, and threatened to drown him in sorrow. He had frightened his children, but the image of Tilda’s little face, filled with such horror and revulsion…

A noise to his left startled him and his head whipped around. _Ai, naeg!_ The scars on his jaw and neck protested with a sudden stab of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stifle the moan.

“Move slowly,” a voice softly instructed.

Thranduil blinked his eyes open. The chairs from the fireplace had been pulled to his bedside and Legolas sat next him, holding out a glass of water in one hand, and a hollow reed in another.

“Use the straw to drink; Daeron’s orders,” he placed the straw in the glass and held it to Thranduil’s lips, and the Elvenking took several long sips.

_“Ci athae,”_ he croaked, as his head fell back against his pillow. “Why are you here?”

“Apparently, this is a family tradition,” the blonde prince's mouth curved upwards. “Look around.” He jerked his head to his left.

Tauriel was beside Legolas, curled up in the chair under a soft blanket, her feet propped up on the bed next to his hip, eyes closed in slumber. The solid warmth to his right was little Tilda, who lay facing away from him, her back and bottom jammed against him, her braid curling around the pillow she shared with him. A hand was resting on her waist. Was it Bard’s? No, it was Sigrid’s who lay facing him, her beautiful face in repose. There was Bard, his _Meleth nîn_, behind Sigrid, with his long, strong arm protectively gathering the girls to him. 

Was Bain here too? There he was, curled up behind his Da, his face buried into the soft pillow, his mouth hanging open.

Even the family pets refused to be left out. Ferien was curled up on the back of Tauriel’s chair, her green eyes staring into the Elvenking’s. Meryl, Tilda’s little pug wheezed softly, as she snuggled into Thangon’s side at the bottom of the bed, his sonorous snored, filled the room.

“They are all here…” Thranduil whispered in shock.

He swallowed. “They are not frightened of me? Did they…”

“They are fine with it, _Ada_. They were afraid someone had attacked you, but once Bard explained, they love you even more. Everyone understands what happened, and they feel badly about upsetting you.”

Thranduil’s eyes swam, and Legolas leaned forward to wipe the tears that trickled down the side of his face. “It will be all right, _Ada_. All is well.”

The Elvenking lifted his left hand to cover his eyes. _“Eglerio i Belain,”_ he sobbed. _“Edregol vaer… De fael, Elbereth.”_

Legolas winced as he glanced at the dogs. “I like this family ritual, although I am amazed anyone can sleep with the noise Thangon makes,” Legolas said, softly. “Tauriel tells me this happened when they were worried about us in Lothlórien.”

“We also piled together after Dale was attacked. After we had rescued the hostages, we could not bear to be parted, even to rest.” Thranduil smiled through his tears of relief. “I do not know how we managed to settle into that smaller bed, but we did.” 5

“You mean the bed from your tent?”

“The very one. Cook uses the room, now.”

The prince leaned back in his chair and laughed silently as he shook his head. 

_“Ci athae,_ _Ion nîn_.” Thranduil reached out to grasp his hand.

“I love you, too. And I am happy to be in this family. Now,” Legolas stood. “You should try and sleep some more. I will be downstairs to look after things. I have sent messages to the school that the children will be absent today, and Percy has canceled all of Bard’s appointments. I will be up as often as I can to check on you.”

With a soft kiss to his brow, Legolas tiptoed out.

Thranduil cast his sleeping Elven daughter a loving look, then rolled on his side to gaze upon the rest of the family, as they slept.

With a sigh of gratitude, the Elvenking’s eyes grew heavy again, and he drifted off to a peaceful slumber.

Any lingering doubts Thranduil might have had about his family’s acceptance were quickly cast aside, when everybody woke up. The family spent most of the day with him (between naps), and Tilda wouldn’t give up her place at his side. She put herself in charge of making sure _Ada_ drank plenty of water (and made sure used a straw), and helping him eat soft things.

"Thank you, _Tithen pen,"_ he told her seriously. "I could not manage without you."

"I know," she told him. "But don't worry, 'cause I'll take care of you."

”I am honored.”

“_Ada?”_ Tilda snuggled into his right side, as she nibbled on her toast.

“Yes, my little love?” he gazed into her big blue eyes.

“I love you a lot.”

He turned to meet his husband’s eyes. Bard’s face was serene and happy, with just a hint of _I told you so_.

Once again, he thanked the Queen of the Stars, for undeserved blessings.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ai, gorgor… _Oh, horrors!

_Ai, naeg!_ \- Oh, ouch!

_Ci athae_ – Thank you

_Ci athae, Ion nîn _– Thank you, my son.

_Edregol vaer…_ _De fael, Elbereth… _\- That is wonderful… Thank you, Queen of the Stars

_Eglerio i Belain – _Praise the Valar

_Gwinïg_ – “Little Fingers,” Tauriel’s childhood nickname.

_hênig_ – my child

_Ma; no! _– Excellent; may it be so!

_Meleth nîn_ – My love

_Mellon nîn_ – My friend

** **

**NOTES:**

[1] _And Winter Came…_, Ch. 8: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/27998778>

[2] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 6: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24520668>

[3] _Legolas, Ion nîn_, Ch. 16: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/43099031>

[4] _And Winter Came…_, Ch. 21: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/29736558>

[5] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 40: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37775288>


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil recovers, with a little help from Tilda.  
.  
Tilda recovers, with a little help from Ruvyn.  
.  
Vildan goes before the King to confess all - will he be thrown out of the North?  
.  
And Thranduil gets some alarming news from Turamarth....

**BEGINNING NOTE: **Have you been thinking of our trip to the “Two-Thrones-Con?" Remember, all the characters will be available to answer questions and sign autographs, but if you want them to sign their names somewhere on your person, you must bring your own Sharpie—their quills would cut you to shreds (Also, if anybody wants an autograph on their boob or something, make sure the kiddies aren’t looking…).

Is anyone going to dress up? You are welcome to do the cosplay thing, it would be great! I myself own no such costume, but I plan to wear my traditional holiday sweatshirt:

I plan to complete the ensemble with a festive holiday hat (complete with twinkle lights) and make sure I carry a large tote for the goodies I'm going to buy at the Market. Now, officially, cameras aren't permitted, as this technology is beyond the capabilities of Middle Earth, but if mine just happens to still be in my purse *wink wink* when we arrive...

> _ **A few Thrones Con Questions:** _
> 
> Who are your three favorite characters?
> 
> What would be the first place you'd go when you get to the Marketplace? Why?
> 
> Is there a favorite Merchant you like? Rod & Catriona? Lynn & Mona? Maggie, who runs the Pottery Shop, and her husband, Constable Tom?
> 
> What about our favorite resident Cook, Lewis? Is he the tyrant the Royal Family makes him out to be, or is he just a big softie?

Ok, now...

On to Chapter Thirteen!!!

> _“Where are you now_

_I need you now_

_If you were around_

_It would be alright_

_Living on my own_

_I know I'm to blame_

_I'm locked in my chains_

_And you're free…”_

** _ Where Are You Now?  _ ** _ by** Nazareth** _

**City of Dale, 3rd of December 2944 T.A.**

“Are you ready, Lady Tilda?”

The school day was over, and the little girl exited the building with the her classmates. Ruvyn quickly checked her over to make sure her coat was buttoned, and her mittens and hat were snug. “Do you need help to carry this?”

“No thanks; it’s just papers to show Da and _Ada_.” She held onto the railing as she came down the steps, and lifted the strap over her head to over her front. “Ready?”

“I am,” the Guardian smiled down at her, as they began their journey home. 

“Where’s Da?”

“I am afraid it will just be the two of us, today. Lord Bard sent his regrets an hour ago.” Ruvyn smirked. “I hope my company will suffice?”

“Oh no! I didn’t mean…” her face fell. 

“I know,_”_ he said gently. “Your Da wants to stay close to your _Ada_.” 

“Da said we’re not allowed to talk about it.”

“That is true.”

“But Uncle Galion said all the Elves know.”

“Most of us do.” Ruvyn said, as they walked. “I only know, because my father and Uncle were there during that war. They idolized our King and never forgot his bravery.”

“That’s what Uncle Galion said,” Tilda’s eyes clouded, and her mouth turned downwards, “but I saw him, and did something terrible.”

“I am sure that is not true.”

“No, I really did,” Tilda’s eyes brightened slightly with tears that threatened to fall.

Ruvyn leaned over the child. “Would you like to talk about it, _heryn nîn__?”_

She swallowed, and quickly swiped her hand across her eyes. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“That is kind of you, but I think we can discuss your problem without going into specifics.” Ruvyn led her to the seat by the fountain in the courtyard. The structure was quiet today, shut down during the winter months.

“Okay.” Tilda settled and took off her book bag.

“I am your guard, but I would like to think we are also friends.”

“You are,” she said. “When I had to learn to be a flower girl, you helped me practice!”

“That is true,” he laughed, “although Lady Hilda and Miss Greta did not appreciate all those small pieces of paper.” 1

“But I learned how to do it! And when I got scared of King Abdullon, you came and sat with me till I felt better. 2 And when those bad men took us, you hung on to the bottom of the wagon, even though you hurt your arm. 3 Next to _Ada_ and Da, you’re my best friend.”

“That is the highest of praises,” he put his hand over his heart. “I would be worried if I came before your parents, but I consider you a friend, as well.”

“I miss Meldon and Nualë a lot, but I’m glad you’re still here.”

A stab of grief pierced the Elf’s heart. “I think of them often,” he said quietly. “Are you afraid something will happen to me?”

“Sometimes,” Tilda said honestly. “_Ada_ says it’s okay to feel bad about that, but try and remember the good times, too. I hope you don’t go to those Halls, though.”

Ruvyn smiled. “I hope to always be here. You and your family have made my King very happy. Before your parents married, Ivran and I guarded him at the Palace, and he was sad for such a long time… But when I see him laugh with Lord Bard, or with you,” he leaned back on the bench, “I feel joy.”

“Ruvyn?”

“Yes?”

“Ivran got married, and so did Daeron. How come you haven’t?” she asked.

“I have not met the right _Elleth_, I suppose,” he shrugged. “But I am not unhappy or lonely, _Tithen Pen_. I like everything about my life.”

“Me, too.”

“Are you ready to tell me what this terrible thing is? As your friend, I vow to keep it in confidence, unless it involves something dangerous.”

“It was nothing like that. I told _Ada_ I was sorry, and he says it’s okay, but when I saw… him, I,” she sighed. “I screamed. I couldn’t help it, and I know it really hurt his feelings. I didn’t mean to, but he knows I got scared of him. My Da said…” she stopped.

“What did Da say?”

“He said _Ada_ would understand, and maybe he does, but I don’t feel better about it. I told him a couple of times I was sorry, but it still bothers me. A lot.”

_“Ai,_ _hênig…” _Ruvyn put his arm on the back of the bench and leaned toward her a bit. “You are not alone in this, Tilda. Many of us find it much easier to forgive others, than to forgive ourselves. But, as you say, you could not help it.”

“Maybe I should have tried harder. It was bad to see it, but when I screamed and he looked at me, it was so sad.”

“Tell me, child: what went through your mind when you saw him? Did you think you could not love _Ada_ anymore?”

“Well, n-no,” she considered, and shook her head. “I was scared because I thought someone came and hurt him, like when those bad men attacked Rhian’s house.”

“What is wrong with that? Of course, you would be frightened about that! If you recall, I was also there that day, and I cannot forget my own terror. Does your _Ada_ know why you reacted thus?”

“No; I haven’t said.”

“You should talk to him, Tilda. It would help you both, I think.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He will understand; I am sure of it,” he nudged her. “So, when you get home, you will?”

“Okay,” she sighed. Then she turned toward him. “I didn’t know you were scared, too. I mean, when the bad men came.”

“I was _very _frightened.”

“But you sneaked under the wagon, and told Da and _Ada_ where to find us.”

“I am a soldier, and my years of training kicked in. But I confess, I could not bear the thought of anything happening to you or your sister. And something did, if you remember.”

“Well, Celeborn came to help me and _Ada_.”

“But none of us knew that until after. I saw my King go up in flames,” he said, quietly, “and I wept. I also wept when we all thought you had died.” 4

“But I didn’t die; I was visiting with Celeborn.”

“All I can tell you was that I was very happy to see you sit up in _Ada’s_ arms and tell your Da to watch his language.” 5 Ruvyn smiled, and stood. “Do you feel a bit better?”

“Uh huh. I know what to do, now. Before, it was all muddly in my head.”

“It helps to talk things out with a friend. Now, we must get you home, so your family does not worry.” The Elf picked up her bag and helped her climb down. 

“Thanks, Ruvyn.” Her hand slipped into his as they approached the Castle Steps.

“I am at your service, My Lady.”

***************

Thranduil’s jaw still pained him, though much less, and he had to be careful when he talked, but the Elvenking was antsy to be confined to bed. Bard took it in stride, and said his grumpiness was a good sign. 

Things were easier when the children were home; Tilda rushed into his room, crawled onto the bed and took her place beside him, legs bent into a “W” that humans can only do when they are small. 

“Did you eat enough today?” she asked briskly, as she reached for the glass and put the straw in it. “Uncle Galion said he’s going to see if they can make you one out of glass; it would last longer, and you could see the stuff when you drink it! Won’t that be fun?”

“It would,” Thranduil said, still keeping the movements of his jaw to a minimum. 

“That’s a good idea, Til,” Sigrid smiled as she walked in. “How are you, _Ada_?”

“Tired of lying here,” he grumbled. “I think I will get up tomorrow.”

“You’ll get up when Daeron says you can, and not a second before,” her hands flew to her hips and she tilted her head, just like her Da. 

“That’s right!” Tilda chimed in with a scowl. 

“If you need anything, send Tilda to get Auntie Hil. Bain’s spending the night at Rhys’s house, and Da is off with Ben, checking on something or another. He said he’ll be home in time for supper.”

“You two have fun. I’ve got a bunch of homework, so I’ll be in your library.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, _Iellig_.” Thranduil gave her a lop-sided smile and patted her hand.

After Sigrid left, Tilda offered him another drink, but when he shook his head, put it back on the tray. “I have some papers from school; do you want to see them?”

“Always, my little love.”

She crawled to the bottom of the bed and grabbed her bag. “I did good on my maths – I only got one problem wrong, see?”

The Elvenking took her paper and examined it. “Excellent! Subtraction is a challenge, yes?”

“But the real surprise is this!” she pulled out another paper with triumph, and handed it to him. A list of twenty words were neatly printed, but there was also a note written and underlined by Miss Eryn in red ink:

** _A+!!_ **

** _ Well done, Tilda! _ **

“I got all my spelling words right!” she bounced.

“You did!” Thranduil opened his arms and gathered her to him. “I am so proud of you! If I could, I would kiss you.”

“Don’t, cause you’ll hurt.” She snuggled into him and grew quiet. “_Ada?”_

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about screaming.”

“I know; you told me. Is something wrong?”

“Well, I hate that I hurt your feelings, and I still feel bad. Ruvyn told me I should talk to you about it.” She sat up again. “Don’t worry; we didn’t talk about you-know-what; Da said nobody is allowed. But I really was afraid, but not of you…”

As Tilda explained the conversation with her guard, Thranduil felt tension he didn’t know he had, leave his body. His worst fear was that the children would see him differently, now. Though his youngest treated him with great care, it helped to hear it out loud.

“I am sorry, my love,” Thranduil stroked her hair, “but I am glad to know you were afraid _for_ me, and not _of _me.”

The little girl studied his face carefully. “I can’t tell anything, now.”

“Lord Elrond taught me well, did he not?”

She raised a hand. “Does it hurt if anyone touches it?”

“Just around my jaw,” he pointed to the place where the tendon was healing. “That will clear up in a week or so. But here, here and here is fine. Go ahead; touch me, if you like.”

Tilda carefully ran her fingers over his cheek and up his temple. “It’s really magic,” she breathed. She cupped the other side of his face. “It feels the same. And it doesn’t hurt at all?”

“Not at all,” he lied. “Only if I bump it.”

The little girl’s shoulders drooped in relief. “That’s good. I’d be sad to think it hurts all the time.” 

“We cannot have that,” he put his arms around her. “Are you hungry?”

“I had a snack downstairs. Cook said he’ll be sending up dinner soon, and don’t worry; I’ll help you.”

“What would I do without you?” Thranduil leaned his cheek (the right side) on the top of her head and smelled the sweetness of her hair. 

***************

**City of Dale, 7th of December 2944 T.A.**

For weeks, the Second-in-Command of the Vanguard in Dale waited for the axe to fall. He had not only upset the Kings’ daughter, he had, in his fury, made a lewd comment about the Elvenking himself! Surely this deserved some sort of censure, but to date there had been nothing!

When he encountered Tauriel, be it within the halls of the Castle or on the sidewalks of Dale, she refused to acknowledge him. He would be insulted, but for the fact that he reversed direction whenever possible, or made a point to engage someone in conversation.

Legolas, bless him, never asked.

But Vildan, son of Valandil, was among the chosen elite of Lord Glorfindel’s army; _he was_ _Vanguard, _and that meant not only his military skills had to be the best, but the code of honor they lived by demanded he go see the Elvenking and come clean. Another matter had recently arisen that could also affect his future in the North, as well.

Vildan woke up early and dressed quickly, taking great pains to make sure his tunic was wrinkle-free, and his hair was pulled pack into his usual smooth bun, with no stray hairs, and his boots had been polished to perfection.

“Good morning, _Mellon_,” Ruvyn greeted him, as he sat at the kitchen table, finishing his breakfast. “There is hot water for tea. Are you on duty today?”

“No, but Rahlen told me King Thranduil is now available, and I must speak with him.”

“This sounds serious,” the Guardian buttered his roll, and took a bite. “Are you in trouble?”

“To be honest, I do not know,” he admitted. “But there is another issue I must bring up, and it may require my early departure from the North.”

Ruvyn dropped the roll on his plate. “You cannot be serious! What did you do?”

“I… would rather wait to tell you, until after I speak to Lord Thranduil.”

“If you needed help with something, Vil_—“_

Vildan held up his hands. “Please; just let me get through this, and I will tell you all, yes?”

“Fine,” the Guardian said, before he stuffed the rest of the roll in his mouth. “I will hold you to that.”

“Lord Thranduil will see you now,” Galion approached the bench he had been sitting on.

Vildan rose and saluted. _“De fael, Hîr nîn.” _The Lieutenant took a deep, marshaling breath and entered the Elvenking’s study.

Thranduil was seated on one of the comfortable chairs by the hearth. “Aur _galu_, _Nardû,” _he said, after the Vanguard paid courtesy, and indicated the chair opposite. “Please; take a seat. There is hot tea, as it is a cold morning.”

Vildan draped his cloak over one of the desk chairs and settled into the leather upholstery. “Thank you,” he accepted the cup the Elvenking offered. “Will you not have some?”

“Perhaps later. Now, I understand you have an issue of some importance you wish to speak to me about?”

“There are two matters, to be exact, but they are intertwined. Firstly, I must confess to you some inexcusable behavior on my part. You see, two weeks ago…” Vildan began to explain the events of his day with Tauriel, but when he said that she had slapped him, the Elvenking’s gaze grew intense.

“Just a moment,” his finger whipped up to point at the ceiling, “you say she struck you?”

“Yes, My Lord. Twice, in fact, but—”

“Have you come to lodge a formal complaint?”

“Not at all!” Vildan cringed. “I deserved it; I promise. I lost my temper, you see and said something in anger, and I am ashamed of it.”

“What sort of thing did you say, Lieutenant?” 

The Vanguard could feel the King’s temper rising, took a breath and blurted. “I was upset to find that Tauriel’s stallion was, er… _servicing _my mare. I reacted badly—”

“What were you doing out with her in the first place?”

“Legolas suggested she enjoys company on her days off. Your cook had prepared a lunch for the both of us, at his request, and we—”

“Legolas arranged this, you say? Did you ask him to do this?”

“No! I promise you, My Lord, my intentions were completely honorable!”

“So, you are _not_ pursuing my daughter,” Thranduil tilted his head.

“Of course, not!”

“Do you think she is beneath you, as a Silvan?”

“Not at all! I greatly admire her courage and skill, and I only wanted the chance to get to know her better, but—"

“But what?”

“Well, we had a pleasant ride to a certain Willow she is fond of, near the ruins of Laketown, and we ate our midday meal in the tree and had a nice conversation.”

“That does not sound like a problem, Lieutenant.”

“It was not, until we jumped down and discovered our horses were missing. My mare, _Mistanâr,_ had chewed through her ropes, and I am sure assisted in _Lasbelin’s_ escape as well, but when we found them, her horse was covering her, and I am sorry to say I lost my temper, and we argued.”

“Then she slapped you?”

“Yes, but Lady Tauriel was not at fault in this.”

The Elvenking sat back with a fascinated look. “What was said, exactly?”

Vildan’s face burned, but he told him. “I said something that implied her horse was not an ideal mate.”

Thranduil rubbed his chin. “She adores that stallion, and if you insulted him—”

“It was not _Lasbelin’s_ honor she was defending; it was…”

“Yes?” the King crooked his right eyebrow.

“…it was yours.” Vildan sank into his shoulders and closed his eyes. “I said – in a fit of fury – that _Mistanâr_ is part of a careful breeding program in Imladris, and it did not matter if you serviced her yourself…” he swallowed, and sat up straighter. “I have no excuse for such an insult, My Lord, and if you feel I deserve to be punished, I am prepared to accept the consequences.”

Thranduil regarded him for a few moments. “Drink some of your tea, Vildan; you look like you could use it. In fact,” he rose from his seat, grabbed a decanter with amber liquid, uncorked it and poured some into the cup, “this will help.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” The Vanguard brought the cup to his lips and downed the liquid in one gulp. Which was a mistake, because for the next few moments, the Elvenking had to pound his back as he sputtered.

“My apologies,” he croaked.

“Ah. I see you have not had any of King Dáin’s whiskey. Did you not try some during your stay in Erebor?”

“N-no, My Lord,” his voice was still a bit rough, but the effects of the drink relaxed him a bit.

“I assure you, this was not intentional, though perhaps we can call it poetic justice,” Thranduil smiled crookedly. “It is not every day an Elf comes to confess a lewd comment regarding my person.”

“I deeply regret that.”

“I believe you. Now, let us talk about your mare. Is she the exotic-looking creature I have seen in the paddock? The silver one whose coat seems to shimmer when she walks?”

“That is the one, My Lord,” he said proudly. “One of her distant grandsires belonged to the Mearas. My father spent centuries preserving this line. _Mistanâr_ was his parting gift to me, before he sailed, and several of his horses went with him, to continue this work in Valinor.”

“How remarkable! I have never seen a full-blooded Meara, but I have heard stories of their intelligence and will. If your mare possesses even a fraction of that, you are indeed a lucky Elf.”

“Thank you, My Lord. She is my treasure, and I have loved her and cared for her since the moment she was born. Though at times, I am not sure if I am lucky or cursed.”

“She has a mind of her own?”

“She certainly does.”

“But Lieutenant, if you are so protective, why did you not place a _Nuitha-luith?”_

“I did; please believe me! That is why I became so angry - Tauriel accused me of neglect. I can see why she would think thus, but I made sure the spell was in place before we left Imladris! I have been most careful, but _Mistanâr_ is willful, and I think perhaps she...”

“That horse is powerful enough to overcome such a spell?” the King asked, incredulously. 

“It would seem so,” he sighed. “If I had known—”

“That mare is a female who knows how to get her own way,” Thranduil laughed softly. “She reminds me of Lady Hilda!”

“Now that you mention it, there is a similarity,” Vildan’s mouth turned up slightly. “Though only in the best of ways.”

Of course, of course,” he waved his hand dismissively. “I must tell you, my groomsman told me _Naurmôr_, my stallion, is rather infatuated with her, but she will not give him the time of day. Lord Bard’s horse fared no better. But the lady has made her choice, has she not?”

“She has, whether any of us like it or not. _Mistanâr_ often looks out the window to the Royal Stables and calls to her new mate.”

“Does he answer?”

“He does. There have been some complaints that the noise is keeping folks in the nearby buildings awake.”

“Oh, dear,” the King snickered. “If those two are disturbing the peace, then we must make arrangement to move her into our stables. I will send a message this morning, and you can bring her later this afternoon. You do realize this also leads me to ask the inevitable?”

“I do, yes. My horse is now pregnant – due to drop the foal sometime in October. The problem is that this could affect the length of my tenure here. There are several ways to deal with this issue, I think.”

“Such as?”

“If I leave now, I can travel with her down south, and through the Gap of Rohan to take her home for the foaling. I could also wait until the spring, and use the mountain pass, but she will have gained some weight by then, and I worry for her balance on those steep trails.

“Another option,” he squirmed in his seat, “would be to stay on after my service is done and wait for the birth, and when the foal is able to follow, take the southern route home. I have concerns about this, because the little one would be vulnerable to predators, and be attacked before I could dismount.”

“Is it your wish to leave, Vildan? And even if it was, will _Mistanâr_ allow herself to be parted from her mate, even after her… is it a colt or a filly?”

“A filly, My Lord.”

“How splendid! What is your wish, in this?”

“After careful consideration, I feel it should be you who decides. I behaved abominably, and have brought dishonor to yourself, your daughter and my people, and worst of all, Lord Elrond.”

“Do you _want_ to leave?”

“No, My Lord! I am very happy to be here! But I have brought shame upon—“

“You will not do it again, will you?”

“Of course not, but the damage—“

“Did you mean your words?”

“No; it was said in anger.”

“Did you apologize? To Tauriel?”

“Right away. It was meant sincerely, but—“

“Vildan, I admit to a bit of vanity, but if I cannot tolerate even an unintentional slight, then I am not fit to lead my people.” He narrowed his eyes. “That is not to say I would enjoy a constant stream of insults, but surely I can take a bit of ribbing.”

“Thank you, My Lord!” Vildan breathed a sigh of relief. “Please; if Tauriel speaks of this to you, tell her how sorry I am. I truly respect her, and it pains me that we are at such odds.”

“You mean, you two have not spoken since?”

“We… did not part well, and I would like very much if we could be at least cordial again. She did not deserve to bear the brunt of my upset, and I would like the chance to apologize again.”

“Well, there is little I can do about that; my daughter has passed her majority centuries ago, and possesses a will of her own. Though as her father, I will demand the utmost respect and courtesy toward her.” 

“You have my solemn vow, My Lord.”

“Then let us declare this incident dealt with, and the matter forgotten. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Vildan gratefully saluted the Elvenking and went into the hall, where Turamarth was waiting for his own audience with the King.

“How are you, Lieutenant? You look wonderful.”

“Thank you; I am well. Did things go well with the King?”

“It could not have gone better,” he said, and with a wave, went beyond the Grand Staircase and out the big doors.

A huge weight had been lifted. He could stay, praise the Valar! Before he headed back to the apartment, the Lieutenant stopped at the Adila’s Cafe, and bought a carafe of strong coffee and a dozen of Ruvyn’s favorite cheese pastries.

***************

“Thank you for seeing me, My Lord,” Turamarth saluted and stood at attention.

“At ease, Tur.” Lord Thranduil gave him a small smile. “You clearly have a great deal on your mind, so take a seat and let us see what we can do, yes?”

Once he was comfortable, Thranduil studied his face. “You look much better, _Mellon_. How do you feel?”

“I feel better, My Lord. There is a lingering… shadow, for want of a better word, but I have forced myself to return to my regular routine and as the weeks passed, it grows easier. I do not dread the Marketplace anymore and have begun to enjoy the company of others again.”

“That is wonderful news,” the Elvenking smiled. “Are you physically recovered; do you think?”

“I have not only sparred with several of my colleagues and held my own, I have made a point to do so in the public rings by the barracks, in front of an audience. I did well, and with each session, I am more at ease.” The Elf licked his lips. “I hate to put it this way, but looking after my cousin and his family during their crisis has… helped me see that I can still thrive by serving others.” Turamarth winced. “Please, My Lord; do not think I wanted anything like that to happen—”

“But it felt good to be ‘the Strong One,’ again?”

He nodded vigorously. “Oh, it did! That was when I started to feel like myself, and though I hurt for my _Gwador_ and Rhian…” he searched for the right words.

“You felt wonderful for yourself,” Thranduil finished. “No, Tur; you are right to acknowledge that, because I thought the same thing. Tell me; do you still wear Celebrian’s Sun-Star?”

The Guardian reached into his tunic and pulled out the large, yellow diamond pendant. “I have never taken it off, and I do not plan to.”

“Excellent.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Tur replaced it under his clothing and gave him a relieved smile.

“Is that why you wanted to see me? To apprise me of your progress, or is there more?”

“There are a few things I would ask, if you would be so kind,” he fumbled with the fingers in his lap, then met the King’s gaze with as much purpose as he could muster. “I want to feel a part of things, again. I have worked and fought hard to get where I am now, and I am proud of that, but I do not think I can improve any more unless I resume my duties. I have loved my time with Darryn, and I made the right choice to remain with Daeron and Rhian, but… I want more. I want to be a Guardian again, My Lord. I am a soldier, a protector, and I miss it.”

Thranduil steepled his fingers and rested them against his mouth. “Daeron is your physician, Tur. What does he say?”

“He is concerned, of course, but he understands why I want to. He says I am physically ready, and in addition to working with the others, I have been instructing Rhian personally, to help her adjust to what changes her body might have experienced.”

This interested his King greatly and his eyes lit up. “And? Has she gone through the same changes as Lord Bard?”

“I believe so. I worked with him during the Long Winter, and though Rhian still feels awkward, she has made remarkable advancements.”

“I would love to hear more about this, later. For now, let me ask: have you spoken to Ermon or Elénaril about your wish to return to work?”

“Not yet, My Lord.”

“While I trust Daeron’s opinions in most things, I do not doubt that his deep love for you might cloud his judgement. Make an appointment to be examined thoroughly by one of them, then have them submit their report. If they say you are ready, we will begin to schedule you on a part-time basis, with the goal of completely returning to duties within a few months.”

Turamarth beamed. “Thank you, _Aran nîn. _All I ask is for the chance to prove I can still perform my duties – mostly to myself.”

“I know, _Mellon nîn_,” the King smiled softly. “Your journey has been nothing short of miraculous. At this point, it matters not how much of your strength is depended upon the jewel you bear. Just keep it with you, and enjoy it. Now, is there anything else?”

“Yes, My Lord. I had written to my father some weeks ago, asking for him and my mother to come and see me, but I have received no reply. I could understand if you could not permit it, but…”

Thranduil’s brows pulled together. “I promise you, Tur: no such request was made known to me. I would have granted that.”

“It is not just me: Daeron and Rhian write to his parents every week, and just yesterday, she said they have received no news, either. I myself have written twice to Evvy, and had concluded that she must not want to answer, but in light of this… I hate to imply anything, or accuse our messengers of withholding our letters, but… I do not know what to think.”

“Are you sure? Galion receives many letters and is meticulous about making sure they are given to the proper recipients. This could be a serious matter, if what you say is true. Interfering with the correspondence of my Kingdom is tantamount to treason.”

“I can only tell you we have not heard from our family, and we are getting worried. I need to know they are well, and want to make sure Evvy is all right.”

“And we must do so. Galion?” the Elvenking called into the other office, as he pulled out some thin paper and hastily wrote a message. 

“Yes, My Lord?” the Aide opened the adjoining door and stuck his head in, as the King folded the paper.

“I want you to send a Raven to the Palace right away. Make sure the bird knows it must go directly to Captain Adamar, the Keeper of the Gates. Send two others to escort him, with orders to protect this message against anything – _or anyone_ that might interfere. This must reach Adamar, at all costs.”

Galion’s face grew serious, as he took the folded paper. “I will go to the Aviary myself.”

Turamarth’s stomach began to churn.

Something was just not right.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_De fael, Hîr nîn _– Thank you, My Lord.

_Heryn nîn _– my lady.

_Lasbelin_ – “Autumn.” Tauriel named her horse after the reddish-gold leaves in the fall.

_Mistanâr_ – Wandering Mouse.” Vildan’s Grullo-colored mare (a white undercoat that is black at the tips on the body, and black face and legs).

_Nuitha-luith_ – Spell to prevent female animals from becoming pregnant. (lit. “to prevent from coming to completion-spell”)

**NOTES:**

[1] _An Invincible Summer_; Ch. 19: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/34716686>

[2] Ibid.; Ch. 45: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/38462252>

[3] Ibid.; Ch. 36: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37243763>

[4] Ibid.; Ch. 38: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37497905>

[5] Ibid.: Ch. 39: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37637711>


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil recovers and reflects. Tauriel has a heart-to-heart with her Ada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m afraid this is short, but I didn’t want to mess up my posting schedule!
> 
> I had this much written in the chapter, but then I sprained my ankle. 🙄Which is fine for sitting and taking it easy; more time to write! 😬
> 
> But I’ve had to take some *marvelous* painkillers, 🤪😜 and trust me: you do NOT want to see the gobbledygook that appeared on my laptop! It was ridiculous.
> 
> As it is, my friend helped my proof this and is helping me post - which is the only reason this makes as much sense as it does...
> 
> Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, if you live in the US, and once again, please think about coming along with us to visit Dale during Yule!

**City of Dale, 7th of December 2944 T.A.**

For as much as he enjoyed his time with Tilda while recuperating, Thranduil had been thrilled to get back to his regular, active routine.

“Are you sure, love?” Bard asked earlier this morning, as he dressed. The children had just left for school, after making sure to kiss Ada goodbye for the day.

“Please, _Meleth nîn,”_ Thranduil fastened the pin at his throat before he came over and put his arms around his Bowman. “I love our rooms, and it has been wonderful to be so cared for, but I need a change of scenery.”

“Fine, then, but if you get tired, or things start to really hurt, do you promise to come back and get some rest?”

“I will. It does not hurt so much to talk, and I will use the straws if I need to drink. I will eat up here privately, and if you can join me, I would enjoy that.”

“I’ll make sure to be here.” Bard kissed the tip of his nose. “I can’t wait to kiss you for real, again. I miss it.”

“As do I, Hervenn nîn.” Thranduil brushed the hair away from Bard’s face and enjoyed the warmth of his greenish-brown eyes for a moment. Then he took in the rest of him. “What have you done to your hair?”

“Not much, really.”

“That much is evident. You look like a Warg; sit down while I fix it.”

“I thought you loved it,” the Bowman frowned, in mock-insult.

“I do love it,” he said, as he untied the leather string of his haphazard ponytail, and picked up a comb. “To the rest of the world, the King of Dale must look sleek and polished. If everyone sees you look so savage, I will have to fight off all your admirers.” He leaned down and whispered into Bard’s ear, “That Warg belongs only to me.”

Bard grinned back at him in the mirror. “I can live with that. Trust me; as soon as you’re well enough, I’ll be unleashing the beast all over you.”

“Mmmmm…” he gingerly kissed his earlobe. “I look forward to it—_naeg!”_ The twinge of pain made him wince.

“Did I hurt you?” Bard whipped his head around and searched his face.

“You did not, _Meleth nîn._ I was reckless. Please do not worry; this will pass. Now; let us get you ready to face your public and I can get back to my life.”

“If you’re sure,” Bard pursed his lips, but faced forward again.

When they met in their chambers for lunch, Thranduil had much to relate.

“How did you face hold up?” Bard asked, as he took a couple slices of bread and grabbed the butter. 

“I admit it did throb a bit, but when Vildan began his tale, all pain was forgotten, _Meleth nîn_. It seems,” the right side of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile, “our _Gwinïg_ has captured his attention. More than he wants to admit.”

“So, what happened?”

Thranduil repeated the conversation he had with the Vanguard, including the crass remark he made at his expense. “Vildan was surprised at my benevolence and my sense of humor.”

Bard chuckled. “He can thank the poppy juice Daeron’s been giving you. I shudder to think what would have happened had you been sober.”

The Elf’s head jerked back in mock insult. “You think I cannot take a joke?”

“About you and a horse?” Bard smirked. “Not a chance. But if that horse is as valuable and rare as you say, I can see why he’s upset, and now he’s got a pregnant mare. What did you two decide to do about it?”

“We discussed alternatives,” Thranduil leaned down and gently lifted his soup spoon to his mouth, and consumed it carefully. “If he leaves, it must be now, but if he stays, it will be for much longer than a year, until the filly is grown enough to travel.”

“Filly, you say? That’s good. Personally, I want him to stay; I like the lad.”

“As do I. But all this is speculation; a message must be sent to Elrond.”

“Would he command Vildan to go back?” Bard asked, his fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

“I do not think so, but if he does, I have no choice but to respect it. Elrond technically outranks me, you know.”

“But…”

“Bard, I hold hold the title of King of my lands, but Elrond was heir to the High King Gil-Galad, and while he refused the title, and prefers the term ‘Lord,’ it does not diminish his position among Elves. Do you recall what happened the last time the King of the Woodland Realm refused to respect the High King?”

“But you never… Oh, wait,” Bard sat back a bit and picked up his water, “you’re talking about the War, aren’t you?”

“And my father, who lost his life, yes. But my regard for him goes well beyond any question of position, though he is among the wisest of our kind. Elrond could have seen the charred remains of me on the plains before Mordor, and had he decided to give me a merciful end, no one would have questioned it.” Thranduil gingerly touched his face. “Do you remember how tired we both were just after Rhian had given birth to Darryn, when he had to heal her wounds, especially her ribs?”

“I was exhausted,” Bard recalled softly, and put his glass back on the table.

“As was I, and I am Sindar. But Galion told me how Lord Elrond painstakingly did so for me _every day,_ for six months, until my flesh and bones were restored. Every day, for six months! Even after, he took time help me become strong again, and to walk and use my fingers…” Thranduil held up his hand and studied it. “I owe him everything. I am sitting here today, as a King, as a father, and as a husband, because Elrond would not give up on me. The pain I have endured these past three days reminds me of the sacrifices he made.”

“I understand,” Bard got up and went over to kneel next to his chair. “I owe him everything, too,” he picked up the Elvenking’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist. “I love you.”

“I love you, _Hervenn nîn.” _Thranduil smiled softly. 

“So,” Bard gave him a mischievous smile, “are you going to tell Elrond what Vildan said?”

“No,” he laughed, then became serious. “I did not just let him off because of the pain medicine, Bard. I…” he sighed, and shook his head. “I do not think I am in a position to judge such things.”

“Why?” the Bowman’s eyes narrowed, as he reached up and stroked the right side of his face.

“I thought about the terrible things I said to Tauriel, the day of the Battle, and the fear on her face, the tear that ran down her cheek haunts me,” Thranduil’s throat tightened. “It should haunt me; perhaps my humiliation had more to do with my mercy than the poppy juice.”

“Not your humiliation; what you learned from it.” Bard kissed each of his fingers. “I’m proud of you for seeing that, love.” 

“Well, perhaps it was a both, not to mention the piteous look on the poor Elf’s face. I admire his courage to come and confess all.”

“He didn’t have to. Did Tauriel say anything to you about this?”

“I knew none of this, until he walked in my study,” he blew out a breath in dismay, “but it explains a great deal. Tauriel has been unusually subdued, and I have been curious.”

“I’ve noticed Legolas has been treating her with kid gloves,” Bard stood and returned to his seat.

“What is this ‘kid gloves?’”

“Oh, it’s just a saying we have. It means he’s been going out of his way to be nice. I’ve wondered if he was trying to make something up to her.”

“As soon as he returns from the Palace, I will speak to him,” Thranduil decided. 

“What are you going to say to Tauriel?”

“I do not know if I should say anything; I do not want to embarrass her, or pry into her private affairs. What would you do?”

“That’s tricky, I know. Suppose Vildan mentions he spoke to you, and you never said anything?”

_“Ai…_ that is a consideration. I must say something to her; she will certainly notice the presence of Vildan’s mare in the box stall next to Lasbelin.”

“Excuse me?”

Thranduil’s shoulders shook as he laughed. “It seems the horses are deeply attached to one another. Do you remember that mare the head groomsman was telling us about?” 

“That silver one?” Bard’s jaw dropped.

“Mearas are horses, yes, but some of them are sentient enough to choose their own mate. It does not always happen, but when it does, they are bonded for life. Which means that whatever plans Vildan had for breeding are gone; she will be with no other.”

“Oh, boy. No wonder he was upset.”

“He regrets that. He knows it was not Tauriel’s fault.”

“In that case, you’d better have a chat with her. Who knows?” Bard shrugged. “Maybe she needs to talk about it, but doesn’t know how to approach you.”

“I did not see it that way,” the Elvenking finished his soup and sipped his tea through his new glass straw. “I will speak with her this evening.”

***************

Tauriel was sitting in the chair by the fire, looking into the flames, absent-mindedly stroked _Farien_’s fur, when she heard a soft tapping on her door.

“Might I come in?” _Ada_ stuck his head in with a smile.

“Of course; how are you feeling?”

“Better with each passing hour. Please do not be concerned. In fact, I am more concerned about you.”

“Me? I do not understand.”

“_Gwinïg_ _Vuin nîn_,” he sighed, as he took the seat opposite. “Vildan came to see me this morning.”

The cat yowled as Tauriel stood, dumping her off her lap. “What did he say?”

“He told me everything, including his bad behavior, for which he apologized profusely,” he tilted his head and studied her closely. “He sincerely regrets his words, so I have decided to accept, if that is what upsets you.”

“I… was not worried, _Ada_.”

“Are you sure? You have not been yourself these past weeks, and we have noticed.”

“I am fine, _Ada_. The last thing you need to think about is me; you still recover from your injury.”

“It is nothing, now,” he waved his hand dismissively. “_Iellig_, I have become increasingly convinced it was nothing Vildan said or did that you find… disconcerting, and while I am here for you, if you need to talk. That is all.”

Tauriel slowly sat back down, and Thranduil leaned forward to take her hand. 

“Now, let me ask you again: are you all right, _Gwinïg?”_ He kissed the back of her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

Her throat suddenly began to hurt, and her vision swam. Her breaths became choppy, as she whispered. “I do not know, _Ada_. I feel confused and I do not know what to do.”

“I am told that Legolas set all this up?”

“He had no right to do that!” she blurted out. “I do not dislike Vildan, but I just…”

“It is too soon after Kili, yes?”

Now it wasn’t just her throat that hurt; the pain in her chest swelled to near bursting. The next thing she knew, _Ada_ was helping her stand and gathering her into his strong arms, as she buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t weeping, but the tears came of their own volition anyway.

“I wish I understood all this,” she managed to say, as she rested her cheek against his chest.

“Few can understand the workings of a loving heart, my child. And you did love Kili, in your own way, and he clearly loved you. What I do know, from personal experience, is that love will never leave you.” He stepped back and lifted her chin to face him. “Only you know when it is time to move on, Tauriel, but do not wait for Kili to leave your heart. Let that part of him stay, and you will treasure it, no matter if you find someone else, or not.”

“But it hurts, still.”

“Part of you always will. I miss Mírelen at times, though I love Bard, and he is the same with his Mattie. To pretend they never existed would be to dishonor them and all we had together.” His brows drew together with concern. “Has Vildan said or done anything to disrespect your memory of him?”

“No!” She sighed. “Maybe that is the problem, _Ada_. Part of me was expecting him to be judgmental and derisive, but…”

“He was supportive and accepting?” Thranduil smiled down at her.

“Yes!” she waved her hands, as she paced the rug. “He made no advances, did not seek anything from me besides friendship!” Tauriel noticed _Ada’s_ mouth was twitching. “I do not think it funny?”

“I am sorry, _Gwinïg_,” he said. “Now, please sit down; you are upsetting the cat.”

Tauriel plopped back into the chair and waited for _Farien_ to settle on her knee.

“I do not mean to laugh at you, truly. I am only reminded of when I first met Bard.”

“He did this to you?”

“If you are asking whether I knew right away that he was my _Fëa_-mate, the answer is no. I was hit with the _Ehtë Raumo_when I first laid eyes on Mírelen, so I knew the difference.”

“I am not surprised; Bard had just killed Smaug and brought all those refugees to the ruins—”

“You misunderstand, _hênig_; I speak of when I first hired him to deliver the wine barrels, six years before the Battle. I found him… disturbing. At first, I thought it was because his recent loss of his wife reminded me of my own grief, and perhaps that was part of it, but he entered my thoughts more than I liked.” His eyes met hers. “At times, I even became angry.”

“Why?”

“Because my encounter with Bard not only stirred up memories of my wife, I found myself getting past my grief and loss. How dare I do that, when I loved her with all my heart? I made a point to avoid any contact with Bard, until of course, we met again in Dale.”

Something stirred in Tauriel’s chest. “You felt guilty.”

“I was not ready to conceive of such things then, but the seed was planted.” Thranduil shifted in his chair, and crossed his legs. Tauriel, only you can say why the Lieutenant from Imladris upset you so, but somehow I do not think it was because of anything he said about me.”

“Perhaps you have a point,” she admitted. “I hate this confusion!”

“Of course you do! You have a naturally curious nature which craves clarity in all things. Always as a small child, you wanted to know what was behind every cupboard door, and constantly peppered Galion and Núriel with questions about people, places and how things operate.” He smiled, “But sometimes in life, _Vuin nîn, _we must accept ambiguity and… drift along for a while.”

“How do I do that?” She sighed. 

“With trust. Maybe it is too soon to consider such things, but your faith in the Valar will let you know what to do when and the time is right.”

Tauriel was silent for a few moments, as his words sunk in. “What if there is never a right time?”

“Why is that something you need to know right now, _hênig?” _Thranduil spread his hands wide. “Just do what you have always done; concentrate on your work, enjoy our family, and spend time with your friends. Nothing has to change.”

“What do I do about Vildan?”

“Since he has only expressed a desire to be friends, why not at least be cordial? There is no avoiding him, in any case, because I gave instructions to have his mare moved to the Royal Stables.”

Tauriel gasped and clutched Farien a bit too hard (to which the feline loudly expressed her opinion). “Oh, I am sorry!” She soothed her cat with slow, loving strokes then asked, “Why did you do this?”

“Because Lasbelin has formed a strong attachment to Mistanâr and they are going to be parents next year. Your stallion cannot stand to be apart from his mate, has been driving everyone in that part of the City mad from the noise.”

_“Ai, gorgor,”_ she whispered, and rolled her eyes.

Thranduil stood, and stroked her hair. “Have you forgiven Legolas?”

“I have.” She giggled. “But he does not know that. He’s groveling, and I rather enjoy it.”

***************

Thranduil laughed softly, but then became serious. “You know, in all the excitement of Legolas’s homecoming, you and I have never spoken of the events at Erebor this summer. I am honored that my daughter would become the heir to Lady Dís, and when Bard told me of your plan to dispose of that wealth, should it come to you, I was so proud.” 1

“I wanted to make sure it would do some good,” Tauriel shrugged. “That is all, really. I do not need the riches, nor do I care about them. The gold and jewels you gave me will provide anything I could ever wish for in the future, but right now, I have everything I need: a nice home, a loving family, and Legolas and I are almost as close as we ever were.

“_Ada,_ I have no desire to leave this place, and when the day comes that I am permitted to enter the Woodland Realm, I would only go there to visit my friends at the Palace, or to use the road to travel East.” She smiled up at him. “I am truly content with my life now.”

“Yet,” Thranduil said, gently, “you do not display the picture of Kili, nor his ring that Dís gave you.” His smile was sympathetic. 

Tauriel lowered her gaze and blinked rapidly. Her voice was small and soft. “I think… I think I am afraid to have them where I can see them often.”

“Can you tell me why, _Gwinïg? _ Is the pain still too great?”

“It is the opposite, _Ada_. I have only just begun to let go of the grief, and…” her brow became furrowed as she struggled to express herself, “it is such a relief, not to be so sad!”

“It is like Bard often says, ‘It feels good to feel good,’ yes?”

“That’s it. I do cherish my memory of Kili, but I think I want to wait a little while longer.”

The Elvenking tilted his head in empathy, as he stroked her hair. “I do understand that, Tauriel. But do not make the mistake I did; I was so terrified of my grief, that shut myself away to avoid it. And you and Legolas paid the price for my cowardice; that is the biggest regret of my life.”

“I will keep that in mind,” she nodded. “Perhaps I am afraid, at least a little, but I do not think I am shutting myself off, am I?”

“I do not think you are,” he agreed, “but such things are insidious. Just check yourself every once in a while, because it is a slippery slope. I would very much like to see these gifts, if you would not mind?”

Tauriel put the cat down and rose. She walked over to her dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer and withdrew a wooden box with sharp, angular carvings characteristic of Dwarven craftsmanship. She carried it over to her bed and sat down with it in her lap. 

“Come and see,” she said.

Thranduil came over and sat on the edge of the bed, while she put the box between them, and opened it. The inside was lined in heavy blue velvet, and contained several things: a thick envelope with “Tauriel Neldor-Thranduillion,” obviously the letter that Dís had written.

“Where is the will declaring you as her heir?” he asked.

“That is at the Palace. I asked Galion to take it and keep it in the safe in his study.”

“That is a good idea,” he picked up the smooth blue stone with runes. “I am told this says, ‘Daughter?’” he turned it over in his fingers, admiring the remarkable play of color it displayed as it caught the light. What kind of stone is this?”

“Dwalin told me it is a Blue Labradorite, made from the same piece she made the one that was buried with him. They supposedly come in different colors, but Kili’s favorite color has always been blue.”

“This is very thoughtful of her,” he handed it back. 

“You… do not mind that she calls me daughter, then?” Tauriel met his eyes.

“Of course, I do not, _Gwinïg_,” he smiled at her reassuringly. “If she had claimed you when you were a child, that might pose a problem, but you are fully grown, and have the right to make your own decisions.” He winced. “I admit I had some trepidation, but that was only because I worried that Dís might try to claim the right to arrange your marriage.”

“Oh, that,” she giggled. “You did prepare a document to send to King Dáin?”

“I did,” he grinned. “You are officially free to follow your heart, though I hope he pays me the courtesy of asking permission to court you? It is tradition, and as your father, I reserve to right to be sure he is worthy of you.” He sighed. “I only want you to have someone who will cherish you and keep you safe.”

“_Ada_,” she said wryly. “I am one of the best warriors from the Woodland Realm; I highly doubt there would be a need for that.”

“I meant,” the Elvenking snickered, “one who will keep your heart safe, my _Gwinïg_. Though I do not worry; should any suitor abuse your trust, there will be little left of him for me to dispose of.” He looked down and picked up a small box. “May I?”

Inside was a small golden ring. Its stone was the same shimmery blue as the token. “It is quite beautiful,” he remarked. “And unexpectedly plain for something of Dwarven-make.” He held it up and examined the tiny runes carved into the sides. “I wonder what they say,” he murmured.

“Just Kili’s name, and his lineage of the line of Durin,” Tauriel answered absently. “Dwalin told me this was given to him when he was a small child; any other ring would be thick and ornate. But I do like it.” She took it from Thranduil and put it on her middle finger of her right hand. “See? It fits perfectly.”

“It suits you,” he smiled. “Tell me, when you see it on your finger, what do you think of?”

“At first, I thought of the Battle, of my confrontation with you, then Kili’s death upon Ravenhill,” she said soberly. “It was a terrible, unspeakable day.”

“I am sorry, _Gwinïg_.”

“I know, _Ada_.” She gave him a weak smile. “But later that day, you comforted me. After everything, you told me my feelings were real, and… I think in his way, Kili brought you and I back together.”

“And for that, I am more grateful than I could say,” Thranduil took her hand and ran his thumb over the ring on her finger. “But I do not want you to think that was the purpose of Kili’s death. He gave his live to save you, and I am grateful, but the fault lies with Bolg.” He searched her face with worry in his eyes. “You do realize this?”

“I do,” she said. “But the Valar took that senseless act, and brought good, did they not?”

“Indeed, my _Gwinïg_. “I have often prayed Kili will find peace in the Halls of his Fathers, and I thank him for his courageous act.” He kissed the ring. “I think you should wear it; to remind you to live the life Kili would want for you.”

“Perhaps I will,” she held it up and let it catch the light. “Much of the sorrow and yearning has passed, I think. Kili would not want me to malinger.”

She then lifted the last object from the box and unwrapped the soft cloth. It was detailed drawing of Kili, done with colored pencils, with a joyous smile on his face. It was obviously recent, but made before the harsh reality of the Quest for Erebor marred his spirit.

“This is how I want to remember him,” Tauriel whispered. “He had the same smile when we sat and talked on the evening of the _Mereth Nuin Giliath__, _and he told me of the Fire Moon he saw once. But I think for now I will put him away.”

“There is no hard and fast rule with such things,” Thranduil said as he took the picture to examine it. “Maybe he will always be put away, to take out once in a while when you feel nostalgic. It does not mean your feelings have faded, for I think Kili will always have a small piece of your heart.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course, _Iellig;_ anything.”

“When you look at the paintings of the Queen, does it make things with Bard… complicated?”

“Not at all, nor does the paintings I did of Mattie disturb Bard. They hang in all of the children’s rooms, and I have seen Bard look at them, on occasion; especially the one in Sigrid’s room. 2 If you are asking whether it makes me unsure of his love for me, the answer is no.

“Tauriel, should you be fortunate to find one who truly values you, then he should be able to understand the difference between a sweet memory from the past, and know there is a way to go on and be happy. No one has the right to demand you forget cherished memories.”

“Thank you, _Ada_.” She put the items back in the box, all but the ring, which remained on her finger, then put it away. “I love you very much,” she said as they embraced.

“And I you,” he rested his chin on the top of her head. “Always.”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ehtë Raumo_ – (Q.) Lightning Bolt (lit. “Storm Spear”) Sometimes, when an Elf first encounters his or her bond-mate, they can feel a powerful, emotional response, like lightning. (It doesn’t always happen – Thranduil felt it when he first saw Mírelen, but she did not return his feelings at first.)

_Gwinïg –_ Little Fingers (Tauriel’s nickname, given to her when a small child)

_Hervenn nîn _ \- My Husband

_Mereth Nuin Giliath_ – Feast of Starlight

_Vuin nîn – My beloved_

**NOTES:**

[1] _Legolas, Ion nîn_, Ch. 37: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/47219776>

[2] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 32: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/36684912>


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saeros continues to manipulate things, which can’t mean anything good. Our beloved Kings enjoy some early morning delights, but things turn serious very quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your get-well wishes! My foot is stiff, but with some physical therapy, I think I'll be good as new.
> 
> Still looking forward to our trek to Dale! Remember, you can meet as many characters as you want, and I hope you'll enjoy us for a short tour.

_“Don't tell me the truth_

_Tell me that it didn't happen_

_There's been a mistake_

_There's been a misunderstanding_

_Dirty your hands_

_Tearing my heart into pieces_

_If this is the end_

_Then we whisper the wind and release it…”_

** _ “Walking Blind,  _ ** _ by** Aiden Hawken** _

**The Woodland Realm, 1st of December 2944 T.A.**

“You have changed me, Evranin_; _in fact, I do not know what I would do without your friendship,” Saeros said, as they strolled along the walkway in front of the Main Dining Hall. “I have never known anyone who understood me so well._”_

When her eyes twinkled at such flattery, his chest swelled with satisfaction. Evvy craved approval like no Elf he had ever known, no doubt due to years of constant disapproval from her _Naneth, _but the power he was able to wield over her mood was thrilling.

It wasn’t hard to give her compliments on her physical appearance. Evvy’s long ash-blonde hair was thick with a slight wave to it, and today she had decided to wear it down, and allow it to frame her face. Her eyes were large, and their deep brown depths reminded him of the deer in their forest.

“Do not say that,” she demurred. “You are the only one who can change yourself; it is nothing that I have done. I just wish I understood why so many describe your parents so differently. To listen to you, they were almost as bad as my mother, yet they speak of their kindness and patience.” Evvy heaved a sigh. “I feel stuck in the middle, and it is exhausting!”

Saeros, let his shoulders droop, and said morosely, “Then I must stop spending time with you, _Aewpin.” _He swallowed and eyed his feet. “I will not come between you and your other friends, and you must—“

“No!” She grabbed his arm, making him smile inwardly. “I… I do not like this tension, but…” she set her jaw. “I am here to learn independence and to trust my judgments. I know what it is like to feel so bad about oneself, and maybe I’m selfish, but helping you makes me feel better about all of it.”

He gave her a chagrined look. “I want you to be happy, Evvy; not cause you trouble.”

“Helping you makes me happy.” She nodded firmly. “So, no more of this nonsense, yes?”

He covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. “You do help me. Sometimes I think you are the only one who can.”

Saeros thrilled at the smile he brought to her face, then changed the subject. “Have you gotten a letter from your family yet?”

Her face fell. “There has been nothing,” she said. “That does not necessarily upset me, as the winter slows down communication. Maybe the messengers from Lothlórien had problems with the snow. We may be light, but the horses

“I am sure it is as you say.” His eyes narrowed as he asked. “Something else upsets you.”

“Yes,” she admitted, and her cheeks flushed slightly. “I hate to mention it, because I know you and Tur have problems, and I do not want to upset you…”

“Evranin,” he smiled reassuringly, “we are friends, and friends should be able to tell each other anything.”

“I… am confused about something, to be honest.”

“Perhaps I can help,” he leaned down to meet her lowered gaze. “Please; you have been so kind to me, let me do the same.” Saeros led her to a bench in the hall near her apartment. “Now, sit, and tell me, and perhaps we can make things better.”

Evvy lifted the bottom of her dress and arranged it around her feet when she sat. “I have written to Tur.”

“That does not sound so terrible,” he said, softly.

“But I sent it a month ago, and have received no reply,” she winced. “Maybe I should have waited; he might not like it if I seem overeager.”

“I am sure there is a good explanation,” He gave her a reassuring smile. “He is, as you say, in recovery.”

“I agree, and did not want to bother him. But last time I was in Dale, he asked _me_ if he could write. Why would he do that, only to ignore me?”

“Perhaps it is wishful thinking? Are you sure you were not the one to request this?”

“No! He brought it up, just as I was getting ready to leave. Of course, I said yes; I am so worried about him!”

“That does seem inconsiderate…” he rubbed his chin. “Perhaps if you wrote again?”

Evranin frowned. “I spent most of my life chasing after my _Naneth_ for attention approval, and do not think I want to do it now.”

“If that is the case, then you would be right. You deserve better.”

She chewed her lower lip. “Maybe just a short note?”

“It certainly would not hurt to at least ask why he has not replied. You are owed some explanation. My friend, Lidros, has overseen letters and packages for the Palace since before I was born. I will speak to him and ask if he could make sure to look for something for you.”

“I would like that,” she smiled, then gasped, as she jumped to her feet. “_Ai, gorgor! _I must hurry; Gwindor hates it when anyone is late!”

“Then you must fly, _Aewpin_,” he stood. “The printing room is next to Lidros’s area; I will stop and see him, first.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! Be sure and tell him thank you, for me!” Evranin squeezed his upper arm and ran.

Saeros managed to conceal his grin, as he went down several flights of steps to the lower levels, where the press was placed, away from the rest of the Palace, to keep the noise level down. King Thranduil’s printing press was located in the large room at the end of the corridor, but the first door to the right contained the room that received all for all non-Royal and non-military letters, packages and parcels.

When Saeros first returned to the Palace, he carefully cultivated a friendship with Lidros, who by now trusted him enough to let him help sort the incoming and outgoing parcels, as they chatted to pass the time. 

As Saeros entered the corridor, he saw the Lidros’s workroom unoccupied. After looking both ways, he quickly pulled the key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and entered.

Just a few minutes later, he exited, made sure the door was secure, and stuffed several envelopes in the inside of his tunic as he walked down the hall.

**7th of December 2944 T.A.**

Saeros happened to be outdoors, when the three dark shapes flew from the East, and settled themselves on the perch near the Main Doors. The middle bore a message, and when the Palace Guard tried to take it, all three flapped their wings furiously, and one tried to bite the Elf,

He ducked behind a tree to watch the two guards on duty carefully approach the trio, with soothing words, in Sindarin and Quenya. But as soon as they got too close, they kicked up a terrible noise and flapped their wings, chasing them off.

_“Boe annin mened Adamar Hesto?”_ one of them asked, with his hands on his hips.

_“Caro!”_ his superior said, impatiently, and waved him off. _“Aran Thranduil_ would not send such a thing unless it was of vital importance! _No lim!”_

Saeros chose that moment to casually walk through the Main Doors, passing the Captain along the way. He stopped for just a moment, to watch Adamar remove the message, and the worried expression told him everything he needed to know. For just a moment, the Captain looked up and their eyes met.

Saeros quickly turned back, and made a point to smile and wave to passersby, keeping the same nonchalant attitude until he reached his rooms, and began to plan.

***************

**City of Dale, 8th of December 2944 T.A.**

Bard woke earlier than normal, to a warm body in his arms, and the soft smoothness of his husband’s shoulders, the ribcage slowly rising and falling with each deep breath. He slowly and carefully disentangled their legs and rolled over to get out of bed—

Two strong arms grabbed him and yanked him back. “Not so fast,” a low, sultry voice whispered in his ear. “Why are so anxious to leave our bed, this morning?”

Bard’s eyes closed, and he smirked. “I am not anxious, I just wanted to let my Elf sleep some more,” he murmured, and lifted on of the hands around him to kiss it’s palm. “He has had a rough week, and needs his rest.”

“As you can clearly see, your Elf is well-rested, well-recovered, and,” Thranduil pulled him closer, pressing his hardened arousal into Bard’s back, “he misses his husband.”

He rolled over to face him. “Are you sure you’re well enough?”

“I do not think I am ready for hard kisses, which I miss,” he smiled, “as you can see, the rest of me is in perfect working order, and feels a bit neglected.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Bard twirled a piece of silky blonde hair around his finger. “Never let it be said that the King of Dale neglects his duty.”

He gently kissed Thranduil’s mouth, then left soft kisses over the healthy side of his face, then his neck to his pink nipples. Bard spiced things up by biting first one, then the other, which, if the delightful growls were any indication, his Elf heartily approved.

Bard laughed when he found himself thrown onto this stomach, and fingers dug into his hips. “You really have missed me.”

Thranduil’s response was swift and thorough action, which made words impossible for nearly a half-hour.

“So, do you feel better?” Bard held his husband and lightly ran his fingers up and down his shoulder.

“Much,” Thranduil chuckled softly, as he ran his hands through the dark hair of the Bowman’s belly. To be honest, I have missed being with you, but just sleeping in your arms is almost as intimate as joining our bodies. It restores my soul and chases away the pain from all those years of loneliness.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Bard kissed his hair. “It wasn’t just my heart that broke when Mattie died; it took years for my body to stop crying out for her.” He sighed and rolled onto his back and studied the beams in the ceiling. “A few years after Mattie died, Hilda got it into her head that I should start thinking about marrying again.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened and he propped himself up on one elbow. “And did you?”

“It had been a while since I lost her, and I had gotten used to the wound inside, do you know what I mean?”

“I do,” Thranduil murmured. “It is almost harder to realize that has become normal.”

“That’s it. To think of years on end, carrying that thing around inside of me…” he rubbed his hand over his mouth. “There are times my children were the only things keeping me here, their faces looking up at me…” he sighed. “Otherwise, I’d have taken a boat out into the Lake and jumped in.”

The Elf cupped his cheek. “You do not have to tell me, if you do not want to.”

“Oh, it’s fine, love. I realized all I wanted was for someone to stop the bleeding. I only stepped out a few times, with a couple of women, and a man, but I realized it wasn’t fair to them, or to me. Those few kisses were emptier than all the nights alone.” His voice cracked, and his throat suddenly hurt. “They just… weren’t my Mattie.” 1

_“Ai,_ _Meleth nîn_,” his Elf stroked his hair.

“I’m so glad I didn’t settle, because we’d have both been miserable, and so would Sigrid, Bain and Tilda.” He kissed Thranduil softly on the lips. “I’m so glad I waited, because now I know I was waiting for you.”

Thranduil lifted his head and studied his face, “Do you remember our wedding night, when we first got into bed?”

“I do,” he brushed a stray lock of hair out of the Elf’s eyes. “When I first felt you, _all of you_ against me, I felt like I had finally come in from the cold, that at last, I would be warm again.” Bard’s smile was compassionate. “I looked into your eyes, and knew you felt the same way.” 2

“Yes…” Thranduil laid his head back down, and rested his cheek against Bard’s chest. “I knew that joining with you would change your body, and you would be more like me, but that was another thing we had in common, despite our physical differences.”

“You, too?” Bard turned his body so that they were face-to-face. “You know, I’d always heard Elves hardly needed any sleep, and when they did, they never closed their eyes, but you sleep just as much as I do. I half expected to spend most of the nights alone while you wandered half the night.”

Thranduil chuckled. “That is simply not so, but those rumors are not new. I will say I sleep a great deal more since we married, but that is because I am happy. Perhaps it is also because I married a human, and you have given me such gifts.

“And you obviously eat meat, though not nearly as much as me and my kids do.”

“We do not need it,” he shrugged. “Neither do we sleep with our eyes open, at least among my people. I have no idea if any of the Noldor or Elves in Valinor do this, and I have never cared enough to find out. It matters little to me.”

“Good point,” Bard agreed, then changed the subject. “Have you spoken to Tauriel? I never had a chance to ask, and you were asleep when I came to bed last night.”

“I did. I think she likes Vildan more than she is ready to admit, and this causes her great distress.”

“She feels guilty,” Bard surmised.

“Exactly,” he smiled. “I think, in time, that will change, but where that will lead, no one knows.”

“Nor should they. I think Gandalf has been a bad influence on Legolas, and he fancies himself a matchmaker.”

Thranduil winced. “I thought of that, as well. I thought about reprimanding him, but I think that is our _Gwinïg’s_ place.”

“_Ada’s_ are allowed to reprimand,” Bard grinned wickedly, “but I’m thinking what that girl needs, is _revenge._ Why don’t you let me handle this?”

“What do you have in mind?” Thranduil sat up with widened eyes. 

“Shh…” Bard pressed a finger to his Elf’s lips. “The less you know, the better.”

“Just tell me one thing; will Percy be involved?”

“You bet.” Bard laughed.

Just after breakfast, the Royal Family gathered in the hall of the Royal quarters, then made their way down the Grand Staircase.

“Bye Da,” Bain waved, next to Tauriel. “Bye _Ada!”_

“Enjoy your day,” Thranduil kissed his daughter’s cheek and patted the boy’s shoulder. “Is Rhys with you, or will he meet you at school?”

“I’m here!” Rhys hurried out of his father’s office, where they usually ate breakfast together. “Coming!” He held his bag, as he yanked his arm through the sleeve of his coat. “Bye, Da!” he called.

“Put your hat on, son,” Alun stuck his head out of his study. “You’re just getting over a cold.”

“Yes, Da,” Rhys yanked on his green hat.

“Did you study for your test?” Bard asked. Since September, Princess Dura, King Dáin’s granddaughter had been teaching the older children a class in Dwarven Culture along with some rudimentary Khuzdul.

“Aye,” both boys answered. 

“Then you’d best get going. See you this afternoon,” Bard waved the trio off, before he turned back and kissed Tilda’s forehead. “Got all your stuff, Beanie?”

“Uh huh!”

Sigrid was pulling on her coat for her day of instruction at the Healing House, and Ivran helped her into it. “Thanks,” she smiled. “I should be home for lunch, but then I’ve got to stay until after six. Ermon wants to make the rounds at the Elder apartments, and I asked if I could go along.”

“I like that,” the King of Dale told her. “Listen, if you see where any of those folk could use some help—”

“I’ll make a note of it and let you know, I know,” she kissed his cheek. “Auntie Hil said the same thing.”

“That’s my girl. Now get, you.”

“Where is your blue scarf, _Tithen Pen?”_ Thranduil held Tilda’s coat.

She shoved her arm in one sleeve, and the item popped out the cuff. “There!”

“Very clever,” he wrapped it securely around her neck, then met Bard’s amused grin. “What, _Meleth?”_

“You live for this stuff,” the Bowman laughed. “What are we going to do when she’s too grownup for this?”

“Nag at them all to give us grandchildren to fuss over,” the Elvenking checked the laces on their youngest daughter’s boot, then fastened his own cloak. “For today, I will enjoy a pleasant walk with our Little Bean.”

“I’m not your Little Bean,” Tilda sniffed. “I’m your _Tithen Pen!”_

“She’s got you there,” Bard laughed. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

The guards had just opened the front door, when an Elven messenger rushed in, holding a small slip of paper.

_“Aran Thranduil!” _he cried, then spoke to the Elvenking in rapid Sindarin.

Bard posture stiffened, as he watched his husband unfold the paper, and when the grey-blue eyes skimmed the message, his face paled. 

“_Ada_?” Tilda took his hand and blinked up at him. “You can still take me, right?”

Thranduil met Bard’s gaze with a quick nod, then smiled down at their daughter. “Of course, I can. Bard?” he said, in a deliberately casual voice, “would you mind sending for Commander Feren, and ask him to meet me in my study as soon as I get back?”

“I can do that,” he said. “Anyone else?”

“If you and Lord Percy could also attend,” he said brightly not looking away from their daughter, “I think it would be useful. Could you also send for Daeron and Turamarth?”

“I’ll get them set up in the conference room.”

“Ooh, will they bring Darryn, too?” Tilda looked hopeful.

“You will be too busy at school, my little love. Now come; Miss Eryn does not like her students to be late, does she?” he took the little girls hand and went through the doors. 

Bard went out on the steps and watched his husband and daughter walk through the courtyard. Thranduil’s voice and demeaner was cheerful, but if the stirring in their shared _Fëa_ was any indication, something was very, very wrong.

When Thranduil returned, everyone was waiting around the long, polished table.

“I have received a message from your father, Daeron. You and Tur will be interested to hear this:

_’Aran nîn,” _he read, _“Received no such letters. Sent several. Just rec’d word of Seldion and Heril—_Herdir _Ilinsor reports they sailed. Await further orders.-- Adamar, Captain and Keeper of the Gates.’”_

The Elvenking put down the message and looked around the room.

“So, we know someone has been intercepting messages?”

“Personal ones, yes. This is a treasonable offense, but pales in comparison to the fact that I’ve got two Elves missing!”

“But they sailed,” Bard was confused. “Didn’t they? What if they moved?”

“Then we would know about it,” Galion shook his head. “We keep careful records of the whereabouts of all our people, and any who wish to leave for the Grey Havens must get permission from the Palace.”

“You’d force them to stay?”

“Not at all,” Thranduil told him, “but until they board those ships, their safety is my responsibility. We must arrange for their safe passage, and record their departure for our census records.”

“If they left,” Galion added, “I assure you, it was not in an official capacity.”

“Are Saeros’s parents the type who would leave without prior permission?”

“No,” Thranduil answered. “To everyone’s knowledge, they were Elves of impeccable character. Six centuries ago, when Tauriel’s village was attacked, not only were the houses and Elves destroyed, but also the large silk farm, there. Heril and Seldion had experience with such things, and volunteered to go and see what could be salvaged. As much as I would have liked that industry to move farther north, they need the milder climate.”

“They didn’t build over those ruins, did they?” Bard asked.

“No. They moved their operations closer to the Palace, but not by much,” the Elvenking swallowed and rubbed his eyes. “According to this, they disappeared at the same time Saeros began to live and work in the Palace. Missing letters mean little, next to the possibility that two of my people have been missing and I knew nothing about it! I mean no offense, Daeron and Tur.”

Turamarth bowed. “I agree. I am also convinced these are tied together somehow.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but how could any of your people be missing so long?”

“It is highly unlikely, but it is possible, Bard.” Galion answered. “Each of our villages is overseen by an Elven leader - a _Herdir, _we call them - to see to the supplies, security and to preside over ceremonies and festivals, and send regular reports to the Palace. If there is a dispute of any kind, and the _Herdir_ cannot settle it, only then do they involve the King.”

“So, if Saeros tells his village his parents sailed, then came to the Palace and told you they were still there…”

“And if this Leader wanted to write to the Palace asking about it, who’s to say that bastard didn’t steal those reports?” Percy spread his hands. “He’d damn well make sure his tracks are covered. He’s crazy like a fox to make sure he’s buddies with your what-do-you-call it—"

_“Têwtham,”_ Galion offered. “An Elf named Lidros has been in charge of sorting and delivering such things. We know he and Saeros are friends.”

Bard pursed his lips. “What are you going to do, and how can I help?”

Feren’s mouth turned slightly downward. “We have had him watched, and besides his growing friendship with Evranin, his movements are no different than they have been since he returned to the Palace. He has always been friendly with Lindros, and he spends no more or less time in there than usual. But now that this other information has come to light, we have a better idea of what we are looking for.”

“But don’t our letters always come in a box?” Percy asked. “You have to use a spell to open it, right?”

“That is for Royal and Military communications,” Galion explained. “What has been missing are personal letters. Though I believe,” he looked to Thranduil for approval, “we will include Daeron’s and Tur’s from now on.”

“We will,” the Elvenking confirmed. “And we will also provide boxes for communication to and from each village. _Ai, gorgor!” _he growled. “Never in five thousand years have we had such a need for such suspicion!”

“You know, this might be the perfect way to catch the perpetrator in the act,” Percy rubbed his chin. “I have an idea, if you’re willing to listen.”

“Of course,” Thranduil and Galion said.

“If this lad, Saeros is trying to get inside information, what better way to catch him out?” the Steward placed his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you about your missing Elves, but I _can_ say the Master of Laketown would often spread misinformation to catch out any spies. Suppose instead of securing that stuff in the box, have Daeron or Tur write to the Palace, telling some tale that we all know isn’t true.”

“I think I see what you’re getting at,” Bard smiled.

“What would we say?”

“Oh, that’s up to you and your King. But for example, let’s say you write to your mother, Daeron and say Rhian left you, and ran off with the Miller’s son, or is going to have another baby—”

“But my parents!” Daeron gasped in horror.

“That’s the beauty of it; we’ll make sure they know the truth ahead of time! Find a way to let them in on it, and for them to watch for who might let it slip. Everyone involved needs to be warned, and if and when this information gets out at the Palace, you’ll know who it is.”

“I like this,” Feren said. “Thranduil?”

“I do, as well.” The Elvenking steepled his fingers and rested them on his chin. “But I am afraid the time for such maneuvers have past. I have a feeling time is not on our side and we must act quickly.”

“I have a question, My Lord,” Daeron raised his hand. “When you sent that message to my father, did you place it under Seal? If he mentioned this to the family, and word of these suspicions reached Evvy—”

“She could let it slip to Saeros…” Turamarth’s face went white.

“He was told to say nothing,” the Elvenking promised, as he got to his feet, and everyone else stood with him. “We all know Adamar will follow orders without question. Still, I think we should go to the Palace immediately.” He turned to his Aide. “Galion; send a bird right away and tell Adamar to gather Evranin and his family and take them to the Royal Wing, where they can be protected. I want Saeros and Lindros confined to their quarters, and held there until we can question them.”

_“Ma,_ _Hîr nîn_.” Galion exited quickly.

“I would like to come with you, _Aran nîn_,” Daeron jumped to attention.

“As would I,” Tur added as he stood. “Please.”

The Elvenking’s eyes regarded him carefully, and Turamarth added, _“Hîr nîn_, they are my family, and I…” his jaw set, “it is… Evranin. If you order me to stay, then I must follow on my own.”

“If I order to you to stay, Lieutenant, you will do no such thing!” Thranduil’s blue eyes glared. 

Bard looked between the Elves, hating the tension, but unable to interfere.

“Yes, _Aran nîn_,” Turamarth looked down. “My apologies.”

The Elvenking’s eyes softened, and took a few steps to stand before the subdued Elf. “I plan to take you, Tur. But you are a _Guardian, first and foremost. _Wedo not know what we may face, and I _have_ to know I can count in you.” Thranduil lifted his chin. “Never have you failed me, _Mellon_, and I will not let you do so now, especially not when it comes to your family.”

_“De fael, Hîr nîn_,” Turamarth whispered.

“Very well,” he nodded, and said to the room. “Get your things and meet us in the courtyard in two hours.”

“I will brief Legolas when I get there,” Thranduil said to Bard gathered his things and laid them out on the bed. “We are taking the Vanguard, as well; Saeros is not familiar with them, and this might work to our advantage. I hate to take Daeron and both sons of Elrond, as I know it leaves the Healing House understaffed, but Elladan and Elrohir possess some of the same gifts as Daeron, and if there is truly some sort of… darkness about Saeros, they may be able to help us determine what to do.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. Things may not be as bad as it seems, you know.” But even as Bard said it, the foreboding in his heart grew heavier. Despite that, he forced himself to keep his voice light. 

:And don’t worry about the children, I’ll tell them you had to go, and you’re sorry to miss them.” Bard finished packing his saddlebags, as Thranduil changed into his black tunic and leather leggings. “Here are your boots.”

After slipping into them, Bard led him by the arm to the closet. “Hold still, and I’ll get you strapped in, love.”

“I am glad you do this, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil smiled at him through the mirror, as Bard helped him into his armor.

“So am I. This way, I can picture all this, and know my Elf has as much protection as I can give him.” He caressed Thranduil’s cheek. “It helps, when I wake in the night, and you’re not there.”

The Elvenking rested his hand on Bard’s wrist. “I hate to leave you.”

“This is not leaving me; this is taking care of the people you love, and the land you love. There’s a difference. Just stay safe, and get back to us.”

Thranduil looked deep into Bard’s eyes, and smiled. “You love me very much.”

“And you love me, very much. Now kiss me, but gently.”

“Nonsense.” The Elf grabbed the back of Bard’s neck and pulled him forward into a deep, long kiss, that made his knees weak. 

“Mmmm… I won’t forget that,” he smiled. “Did I hurt you?”

“It would hurt more if I couldn’t say a proper farewell.”

“Not farewell, love,” Bard breathed. “More like, ‘I’ll be home soon.’”

“I like that much better,” Thranduil rubbed their noses together. “Now, please help me with my shoulder straps?”

“Thranduil?” he couldn’t help asking, as he fastened the buckles.

“What, Meleth?” The Elf lowered his arm slowly, and turned to face him. 

“Promise me the truth, here. You had a vision, before we rescued the girls from Jarod, remember?” [3]

“I do,” Thranduil looked deep into his eyes and put one hand on his chest, and one over Bard’s heart. “I feel no such thing, today, at least for myself. Do you believe me?”

“I don’t have to; I can feel it.”

“Because I am in you, and you are always in me, yes?”

“Yes,” Bard nodded. “Always. Now, let’s get going, so you can get back.”

By the time they made it down the Grand Staircase, Cook and Greta were ready with parcels of food.

“Begging your pardon, My Lord, now, I know you Elves like your _Lembas_, but Greta and me thought you might enjoy a few of these cookies and muffins along the way.”

“I thank you, Lewis,” the Elvenking took the bundle, wrapped in bright cloth. “They smell wonderful.”

“Safe travels and best of luck with whatever you’re doing.”

“Lewis,” Thranduil smiled. “I will not be gone for months; I am simply going to the Palace.”

“Well, I do know the family fussed and fretted when you were gone all summer, especially the little Princess, and now folks are all a-gatherin’ out there…” Cook cleared his throat. “Please, My Lord; just take care.”

Bard couldn’t help but smile. Lewis might be blustery and a bit of a tyrant in his kitchens, but he and the rest of the household staff adored the tall, blonde Elf, and they worried for him just as much as the family when he was gone.

“You are most kind,” Thranduil said solemnly. “I would appreciate it very much if you could do something for me?”

“Anything, My Lord,” Cook straightened. 

“May I count on you to keep Princess Tilda occupied?”

“Not to worry,” Lewis smiled. “We’re getting ready to do all the baking for the Yule Ball and she’ll be a big help in the kitchens.”

“Thanks, Cook, Greta,” Bard gently urged Thranduil toward the door. “I’m afraid they’re waiting, love.”

The heavy oak doors were opened, and the Kings stepped out on the dais. In an instant, every soldier in the courtyard stood at attention. Family and friends had gathered to see them off, the horses were chomping at the bit, eager to be on the road.

_Naurmôr_ was standing at the bottom of the steps, and neighed loudly—

A loud screech was heard over the din of voices, and everyone looked up.

A falcon swooped down, headed straight for the Elvenking. Instinctively Thranduil held out his arm and the great bird landed on his thick leather vambrace, and held out his leg.

“Well,” Percy came up beside Bard, “this can’t be good.”

It wasn’t. Thranduil read the small paper, turned to Bard and whispered, “Daeron and Tur’s parents are safe, but,” he swallowed, “Saeros and Evranin have disappeared.”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Boe annin mened Adamar Hesto?_ – Do we need to get Captain Adamar?

_Caro!_ – Do it!

_Herdir_ – Master of an Elven Village in the Woodland Realm

_Herdir Ilinsor -_ the Elf who is in charge of the Village where Saeros and his family used to live.

_No lim!_ – Hurry!

_Têwtham – _“Letter Hall” the room that houses and sorts all ordinary correspondence in the Palace.

**NOTES:**

[1] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 12: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/25133664>

[2] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 21: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/26098071>

[3] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 37: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37370825>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how does Saeros get away with all this stuff? It's like he has some sort of special power that allows him to get away with things?
> 
> Stay tuned for a blast from the past...


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Dale, Daeron wakes up early and reflects upon his life. But not for long, as they are urgently summoned to see the Kings.
> 
> At the Palace, Evvy comes to a realization, but is it too late? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to look, I managed to edit and post an addition to Thranduil’s and Tauriel’s heart-to-heart, back in Chapter Fourteen!

* * *

_“I know people hurt you so bad_

_They don't know the damage they can do, and it makes me so sad_

_How we knock each other down just like children on a playground_

_Even after that old sun went down_

_I was either standing in the shadow or blocking your light_

_Though I kept on trying I could not make it right_

_For you girl_

_There's just not enough love in the world…_

** _ Not Enough Love in the World  _ ** _ by** Don Henley** _

**The Woodland Realm, 8th of December 2944 T.A., Early morning**

Evranin finished her breakfast and opened the door of the apartment she shared with Airen and Elion to find a bouquet of flowers at her feet. She reached down and picked them up, stifling a sigh. 

Airen came up behind her and looked over her shoulder. “They are lovely.”

“They are,” she agreed, as she looked at the card. They were from Saeros. “I do not know what to do, _Mellon_. It was a nice gesture, but I do not feel right about accepting them. I do not want to give him the wrong idea.”

“I think it is too late for that. Evvy, you need to speak to him,” Airen told her firmly. “In fact, I think you should do so today. To drag this out would be cruel.”

“I know. I have given him no cause to think our friendship is any more than that, but I think he is lonely and unhappy. Perhaps—”

“No! Enough, please!” Airen’s forehead creased with worry and frustration, as she held up a finger. “Elion made me promise not to interfere, and so far, I have held my peace, but I have to tell you there is something about him that makes me nervous! I believe he is playing on your insecurities and makes you think you are…” she waved her hands in the air to find the right words, “he makes you believe that you have the power to transform him somehow!”

Evvy stood very still, eyes wide with hurt. “You do not trust my judgement?”

“No, that is not what I mean at all! Please, _Mellon_; I know what you went through with your family, more than anyone in this Palace. I know how much you need to prove yourself, but tell me, if Orlin were here, right now, what do you think he would say about Saeros? If you do not trust me, you lifelong friend, please; think about the brother who has loved you and protected you all your life!”

“Do not bring my family into this!” Evvy snapped, tears filling her eyes. “I happen to like how I feel when I am with Saeros! He sees me as strong, and capable—”

“We think those things about you, too! But think about it: if Saeros was as sweet as you say, why does he have so few friends? Does that not tell you something?”

“What it tells me is that no one has taken the time to get to know him,” Evvy’s jaw set. 

“How do you know this? You only arrived here this summer.” Airen sighed and said softly. “What do you know about his family?”

“Just what he told me. His parents despised him for not becoming a soldier; his father feels his talent as a scholar are useless.”

“And you believe that?”

“What reason would he have to say otherwise? My assignment here is temporary, so what does he have to gain by lying to me?”

“What has he to gain?” Airen’s voice rose again. “Everything! People like him crave power and control over others, and I think you are playing right into his hands! Evvy, we love you and care about you, and sometimes we can see what you cannot. Please, please listen to what I am saying!”

“I have to believe there is good in him,” Evvy wiped the tear that fell on her cheek. 

“Why do you have to? Do you think if you can help Saeros find some sort of redemption, that it will erase the years of hurt you endured?”

“Perhaps that is exactly why!” she cried. “I know, more than most people what it feels like to be beaten down by a parent that should have loved you, supported you and built you up! I want to find a way to take that pain and use it for some good. Why is that a bad thing?”

Airen shook her head. “Because I believe, and I would not say this lightly, _Mellon nîn_, I believe your need to redeem Saeros, is really your way of redeeming yourself. _Vuin_ _Evvy_, you do not have to make up for anything! You have done nothing to deserve what you mother did; her behavior was not your fault!”

The Warden took a step closer and reached for her, but Evranin backed up. “What if it was?” her lips trembled. “Because if you are right about Saeros, that might mean my mother was right to see something in me that needed to be fixed? Maybe she needed to needle and push at me because there _is_ something wrong with me?”

_“Ai, baw!”_ Airen grabbed her and held her close. “That is just not so, _Aewpin_. Not at all. I am so sorry I made you doubt yourself; that is the last thing I want to do! I just think Saeros sees you as some sort of... _prey. _

"Maybe I am wrong, but just know that we love you, Evvy. We love you because you deserve it; you always have.” She pulled back and gave her a worried frown, “I say these things because I am your friend, and because I think you deserve the best that life has to offer. If Saeros is spending time with you in hopes of forming an attachment, it is kinder to make things plain, as soon as possible. I know you still have feelings for Turamarth. It is true, yes?” she stroked Evvy’s hair. “He is special to you.”

“But that does not matter!” Evranin leaned her head on Airen’s shoulder as they hugged. “He will not answer me! He said he was going to write, you know that, so where are his letters?”

“I do not know, but that is no reason to turn to someone like Saeros to make up for it. Something has to be wrong. Elion has known Tur and Daeron all his life, and he says there has to be a reason; they are honorable Elves. They are Guardians and always keep their word, or die in the attempt. Now, do you honestly think Saeros is as honorable as a Guardian of the Woodland Realm?"

“I… do not know…”

“If what Saeros says is true, and you both have a difficult childhood in common, that did not stop _you_ from having friends back home, did it?”

“You might have a point. It is just that I do not want to hurt his feelings. He is…”

“He is what?” Airen tilted her head and scrutinized her. 

“I wish I knew how to say this…” she pursed her lips. “I feel, when Saeros speaks to me, he sounds very convincing and reasonable…” Evvy groaned. “Perhaps this is in my imagination… I am seeing things that are not there, am I?”

“If he was wielding some sort of spell, I am sure the King would be aware of it. But still, you have a better grasp of history than most Elves, so you know that some of our kind can be manipulative and cruel. Fëanor was one such Elf; and he persuaded all of his sons and many others to take a vow that led to at least three Kinslayings! Eöl had a dark heart and he tried to kill Maeglin, _his own child,_ and murdered his own wife in the attempt! 

"These things happen, _Mellon nîn_. I am not necessarily saying Saeros is such a being, but I remain firm in my belief that there is more to this than meets the eye.”

“So, what should I do?” Evvy held up the bunch of flowers.

“You need to have a frank discussion with Saeros and set some limits. I know you are afraid if disappointing anyone, but these things are unavoidable. If you want me to come with you, I will.”

Evvy’s shoulders lifted and dropped in a sigh. “Thank you, but I think it would be better if I did this myself,”

“Then will you promise to do it this morning, and be done with it?” Airen searched her face.

“I will.”

“Would you like to meet here after? I could arrange to switch my shift.”

“Please do not go to so much trouble; if you could just meet me for lunch, instead?”

The Warden grinned. “That we can do.” Airen hugged her tight. “I am so proud of you_, Vuin.”_

_“Ci athae.”_

***************

**City of Dale, 8th of December 2944 T.A., Early morning**

Daeron took a deep breath as he stretched awake, then rested his hand in the mass of curls that splayed across his chest. Rhian was facing away from him, her head resting on his arm. His smile was serene as he absent-mindedly lifted a lock of hair and toying with the brown spiral. The color had grown deeper since the weather had turned cold, and he missed the sun-kissed highlights that framed her beautiful face.

He relished the quiet, because he knew it wouldn’t last. Soon Darryn would be waking up and calling for his parents, and another day would begin. Their son will soon celebrate his third birthday, and discussions had begun to take him out of his crib and into a bed. 

_Ai, _raising a small son was a joy, but it did take a great deal of time and effort! When he worked in Old Dale, there was a saying he often heard the older women say to the new mothers: “It takes a village,” and while not every citizen of Dale participated in their son’s care and upbringing, their varied, extended family worked together to make sure the little boy was well-cared for. 

Rhian shifted next to him with a deep sigh, and the pattern of her breathing told him she was waking up. 

“It is morning, _Hind Calen.” _He ran his fingers through the tangles of her hair. “I like your hair loose like this.”

“Except you’re not the one who has to get a comb through it,” she whispered, eyes still closed. “I had it all in a neat braid when I went to bed, you know.”

“You also had a nightgown, which landed over there on the chair.”

She giggled. “My husband is an animal, but I like it. There are benefits to becoming Immortal; our sex life is amazing.”

“I have less need to hold back,” he said, as he lifted his upper arm and showed her a bite mark. “Neither do you.”

“Oh, babe,” her eyes widened, “I did that?”

“And the one on my shoulder.” He teased.

“I’m so sorry!” She hid her face in his chest and chuckled. “I was trying not to scream and wake everybody up! She lifted her head with a mischievous grin. “The things you do to me…”

Daeron winked and brushed the hair off her brow. “I love you.”

Her response was several soft kisses. “I adore you. Thank you, babe.”

“For what?”

“For being patient with me, when I didn’t deserve it. For understanding that it takes time for me to learn how to adjust to all this stuff, even if most of it is wonderful. And, that night…” she sighed.

“Do not think of it, _Meleth nîn—“_

“No, please; I have to say this. If you ever feel hurt, or angry or neglected, I _want_ you to tell me, even if it’s hard. I’m a lot younger than you, even by human standards, and there’s a lot about life I just don’t understand, yet. I love you for being patient, I do, but _talk to me_, teach me, help me learn. No more holding back, promise?”

“I will do that,” he said, as he caressed her cheek. “But what should I do if you push me away again?”

“I’ll try as hard as I can not to, but if it happens, then push back. That whole thing was my fault, I know that. I did what I always have when I’m scared and overwhelmed: I pull into myself.”

“It was the only way you knew to cope then,” he said. “It was not entirely your fault—“

“But I can’t do that anymore! I have a wonderful husband who has taught me what love really means, and I almost threw it away!”

“Yet here we are,” he smiled. “I promise to talk to you, yes, but remember that when we join our bodies, our _fëas _understand each other, and our hearts speak when words fail us. That will also help.”

“Is that your way of saying you want me more often?” Rhian smirked.

“Oh, I can never get enough of you.” Daeron captured her mouth in a deep kiss…

…and they heard the knock on the front door.

Rhian and Daeron froze, as they heard Turamarth open it downstairs and listened to the urgent voice of the messenger.

“You go on, babe; it’s probably one of your patients,” Rhian jumped out of bed and handed Daeron his robe. “I’ll get Darryn up.”

By the time he reached the bottom step, Tur was already closing the door. “King Thranduil wants to see us at the Castle in a half-hour. I will put the kettle on for tea.”

“Do you know what it is about?”

“I have an idea,” Tur headed into the kitchen. “I was given permission to return to guard duties on a part-time basis, provided Ermon or Elénaril clear me for duty.”

“That is wonderful! Why did you not say so?”

Turamarth quirked his eyebrow and smirked. “You were working late, _Gwador_._”_

_“Ma,”_ he agreed. “A breech delivery. But that is not something Lord Thranduil should be immediately concerned with.”

“He is not. While I spoke with the King, I asked him to look into why we have received no letters. He sent a bird - with an escort – to Uncle Adamar, and I think he is not pleased with the news.”

_“Ai, gorgor…” _Daeron’s stomach lurched. 

“Go upstairs and dress. I will have your tea ready when you come back down.”

***************

“Very well,” Lord Thranduil nodded, and said to everyone in the conference room. “Get your things and meet us in the courtyard in two hours.”

Turamarth’s insides were shaking, as he and Daeron walked back to the house. “_Gwador?_ What if—"

“Do not do this to yourself, Tur,” Daeron clapped his hand on Tur’s shoulder. “I know this is not how I envisioned your return to work, but if I did not believe in you, I would have stopped you.” He paused in their stride and face him. “You need to do this, and I will be at your side, just like always.”

“_Ci vilui,”_ Tur pursed his lips and set his jaw.

“There is no need to thank me. And we may get to the Palace and find all is well, but we will prepare ourselves. You know _Ada_ and Uncle Ómar will watch over them.”

As soon as the meeting was over, they rushed back to the house. In the Sitting Room, Rhian was setting their packed saddle bags on the sofa. “I figured you might need them, so…” she shrugged. “You do have to go to the Palace, am I right?”

“We do, _Hind Calen_, but how did you know Tur was coming?”

“Because I think I know what the meeting was about. Tur and I talked about it last night, while you were delivering that baby.” She dashed around them and unlocked the front closet that held their armor and weapons. “These should be ready to go…” she said as she pulled out their helmets, then paused. “What?”

Daeron smiled, took his helmet, and kissed her forehead. “You take good care of us.”

“Well, you’ve got the hard job,” she set their armor and capes on the furniture. “Now go get dressed to travel while I check these over. Oh! Did you have anything to eat, or are you going to have some _Lembas?”_

“Do you have time to make something?” Tur called as he went into his room.

“Be ready in a jiffy!”

“Unca Tur?” Darryn padded behind him. “You goin’?”

“I am, _Pînig_. Your _Adar_ and I will go see _Haru_ and _Haruni.”_

“Can I go?”

“Not this time,” Tur pulled a heavier tunic over his head and sat on the bed to pull on his riding boots. “But I am hoping we can bring them back to see you; how would you like that?”

“’kay,” Darryn frowned. “Miss you.”

“I will miss you, too.” He picked up the child and put him in his lap. “Will you be a good boy for your Mama? For me?”

“Uh huh.”

“I know you will. Now, give me a hug and a kiss, and let us help your Mama make a nice breakfast, before we go.” He picked the boy up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack, and Darryn giggled all the way to the kitchen.

His stomach still hadn’t settled down, but he was determined to get through it.

Because this was his family.

Because this was _Evvy, _and he had to make sure she was safe.

***************

**The Woodland Realm, 8th of December 2944 T.A.**

Adamar pursed his lips as the messenger entered his office.

“I believe it is the King’s response, Captain.” The private bowed and saluted.

“Thank you. Get back to your post, but be ready if I need you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Captain of the Gates had hardly slept since yesterday, when he was summoned outside the Main Doors and found not one, but three falcons perched on the wall, his heart pounded against his ribs. 

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

> “Back away,” he had ordered the guards, when the birds spread their wings and chased them away. “Let them calm, and allow me to approach.”
> 
> _“Alatúlie,”_ Slowly, speaking soothing words in Quenya, he stepped over them. _“Essenya Adamar ná. Ma hanyal ni?”_
> 
> Almost instantly, the middle bird grew still, folded his wings and nonchalantly began to groom his feathers as he held out the leg carrying the message.
> 
> Adamar carefully removed the message. _“Hantan len.”_
> 
> _Captain Adamar – Daeron & Tur report no communication from your family. Evranin has not replied to several letters. Say nothing, but look into this and send reply tomorrow. – Aran Thranduil_
> 
> Adamar solemnly went into his office and threw the paper into the fire. 

> That evening, he lounged with his wife and sister-in-law in their apartment, and casually asked, “have we not received any news from Dale?”
> 
> “This is not like our sons,” Indis shook her head. “Always we receive letters but for two months, there is nothing! Idril and I have written many times, but this has never happened. Ómar?” she called to her husband who was changing out of his uniform after his shift, “have you heard anything?”
> 
> The Captain emerged in a comfortable tunic and leggings. “No one else has complained of this, that I know of.”
> 
> “Do you think Lidros is to blame?”
> 
> “I do not have any reason to think so,” Adamar shook his head. “He has an excellent reputation.”
> 
> “I think I know who is behind this,” Ómar said grimly. “We all do.”
> 
> “But we have no proof,” Adamar interrupted him. “I cannot tell you why, but we are to say nothing of this to anyone.”
> 
> Ómar immediately grasped the seriousness of his words. “We will not, though I will go so far as to tell you, Evranin has complained of the same problem.”

This morning, the Keeper of the Gates got up earlier than usual and send the news to the King, and anxiously awaited orders. 

Once again, the King’s message arrived with two birds as an escort, and this time everyone who saw them knew something serious was happening.

_“Hesto Adamar?”_ Elion slowly approached; his forehead furrowed with worry. “What is happening?”

He quickly skimmed the note then crumpled it up and shoved it into his pocket. “I want you to find Captain Ómar, and take our wives to the Royal Wing. Where is your wife?”

“Airen is at the Dining Hall—”

“Tell her to go to the Library, and take Evranin to join my family. Then the two of you stay and keep them safe, is that clear?”

_“Ma, Hesto,”_ Elion saluted and ran with all speed.

Adamar signaled to two other Guardians. _“Aphado nin!”_ he cried and made their way over the walkways and paths to the corridor where the printing presses were kept.

The large room at the end of the hall was silent and dark, and though a lamp was lit in mail room, they were surprised to find the door locked.

“Open this door, Lidros!” Adamar shouted as he pounded.

No answer.

“Break it down,” he ordered, as he stepped back. The guards expertly kicked the solid wood as one, and it splintered with a groan. 

Lidros was lying on the floor, unconscious, in a small pool of blood near his head.

“_Ai, gorgor!”_ one of the guards shouted as he raced to the body and pressed his fingers under his ear. “He lives!”

“Carry him to the Healing Hall and _do not leave him!”_ Adamar ordered. “I want him guarded every minute; do you understand?”

_“Ma, Hesto!”_ and in a flash, Lidros was quickly carried off.

Adamar and the remaining Guardian kicked in the door to the Press Room and made sure it was unoccupied, but this was no surprise. He hadn’t been sure he’d seen Saeros out of the corner of his eye when the first message came yesterday, but now he was positive. 

Saeros was behind all this, and he had to get to Evranin, _now._

“We must lock down the entire Palace,” he ordered, as they ran back to the center of the Palace. “Saeros is to be considered armed and dangerous. Go find Prince Legolas and tell him what has happened!”

When they approached the entrance to the Main Doors, they were both surprised to find things already in a state of chaos.

“What has happened?” he demanded, after his companion went to find Prince Legolas. “Where is my wife? Have you found Saeros?”

“Ómar is with Idril and Indis, but we cannot locate Saeros,” Airen ran up to him with a frantic expression, “Evvy is also missing.”

He has just sent the report to Dale, and came back through the Main Doors when Ómar ran up to him.

“Why are you not guarding our wives?” he demanded, as his stomach churned.

“They are safe, but we have another problem,” Ómar grabbed his arm. “Lieutenant Gildor’s children did not report to school this morning, and I think they have been taken.” [1]

“Where is Gildor?”

“He is with his wife in their quarters.”

Adamar raced as fast as his legs could take him to Gildor’s apartment, to find the couple huddled together on their couch. as they answered questions.

Gildor and his wife had fed the children their breakfast and kissed them goodbye as usual, then Nielthi walked them to the corridor where their classes were held. 

“Did you see them go into the classroom?” Adamar asked.

”No,” she shook her head. “I was late for duty, so I told them to go straight down to class.”

“At ten and twelve years of age, they are certainly capable of managing that,” Gildor said. “Dylan has been pestering us to let them walk to school by themselves.

“We decided I could take them as far as the corridor and they could walk themselves to class,” Nielthi trembled with worry, “I am so sorry,” she begged her husband. “I sh-should have taken them all the way, but he wanted to be responsible!”

“Shhh…” Gildor kissed the top of her hair. “No one could look after them better than you, _Meleth nîn.”_

“Nielthi,” Adamar squatted in front of the weeping _Elleth_. “This is not your fault. I think I know who is behind this, and King Thranduil is on his way, even as we speak. We will find them, I promise you.”

“But they have no coats!” she wailed. “They are human and cannot tolerate the cold!”

Just then, there was a knock in the doorway, and everyone looked up. Adamar jumped up and rushed to Elion, whose face was unnaturally pale. 

The Lieutenant held up two satchels. “We found these by the North Wall,” he whispered, and pulled out the contents of one of them. They were school papers, written in a childish hand.

Nielthi screamed in horror and collapsed in her husband’s arms.

***************

Evranin didn’t see Saeros before she reported to Gwindor in the Library, and she hated to admit it was a relief. It was cowardly to put off the inevitable, and she knew Airen will want to know all about it, but she needed some time to prepare what she wanted to say. 

“Evvy?” It was Gwindor, the head Librarian. “I am going to order some tea. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please,” she looked up from the scroll with a smile. “This has gotten a bit brittle, Master; I doubt it will last another decade.”

“Put it with the others to be copied. How are these?” he pointed to the small pile to her left.

“Oh, those look good, but I want to have them rechecked in five years. And those,” she pointed to a small cart piled with more scrolls, “are perfect.” Evvy sighed, “I wish I had time to read all of these wonderful documents! So much history to learn!” she smiled.

“Ah,” he laughed. “I confess I would enjoy a year or two in the Lord and Lady’s Archives in the Golden Wood. Are you prepared for your class this morning?”

“I am, but I need a few minutes to finish up here.”

Evvy normally spent two mornings a week helping the adopted fosterlings from Dale with their reading lessons and helped them pick out a book they might want to take home to their Elven parents. She knew Gwindor especially looked forward to this, as his grandchildren, Dylan and Rowena were among the students. 

They had been adopted by Gwindor’s son, Gildor and his wife during the Long Winter, and it was decided they would stay in the Woodland Realm, rather than move back to Dale. Gildor’s duties as Lieutenant to Captain Ómar prevented such a move, yes, but mainly the children had been too traumatized by the destruction of Laketown and the Battle and wanted to stay.

They were delightful children, though Gwindor said it took a while for Dylan to come out of his shell. But Gildor and his wife Nielthi, had been patient, and though he remained quiet-spoken, he smiled a great deal more. They were their new grandparents’ pride and joy, and Gwindor’s wife enjoyed making all their clothing.

When it was time for the teacher to bring them to the library, Evvy and Gwindor looked for his grandchildren and was surprised at their absence.

“They did not come to school today, Master,” the instructor told him. “Many of the children are home with colds, and we assumed they were among them.”

“But I saw Neithi this morning, and she said nothing about illness,” Gwindor became alarmed. “She was on duty, as usual; if the children were sick, she or my son would be with them.”

“Master,” Evvy gently put her hand on his arm. “I am sure there is an explanation for this. I can take care of things here; why do you not go find Gildor and make sure? You will not be able to concentrate, otherwise.”

The Archivist swallowed. “I will, thank you. 

“It is well, _Mellon_,” she assured him. “Go.”

Once the class was dismissed and Evvy was alone in the Library, she decided to take a break. She stepped out into the hall just as Saeros stepped out of the nearby shadows.

“Saeros!” she cried. “You startled me!”

“I am sorry,” his voice was smooth. “I was hoping you and I could go for a walk?”

“Well, I only have a few minutes…” she bit her lip and looked around. “But yes, I will. I think you and I need to talk.”

“Did you receive my flowers?” he tilted his head.

“I did,” she hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, “I am afraid I cannot accept them. If I have given you the wrong idea about our friendship, then I owe you an apology.”

“What would you consider to be the ‘wrong idea?’” Saeros’s voice suddenly became edgy, and his eyes narrowed. “Have I not repeatedly expressed my gratitude for our friendship? You understand me, Evranin! How many others refuse to look beyond their assumptions and judge me? Yet you do not, and I simply wanted to express my appreciation.”

“So…” she took a deep breath, “are you developing feelings for me beyond friendship?”

“What would you say if I was?” he looked deep into her eyes. “What would be wrong with that?”

“Nothing!” she held up her hands, “but I am afraid I must tell you that I do not return such feelings. I am sorry to hurt you, Saeros, but I just do not feel that way about you. We can be friends, but that is all.”

“You could grow to love me,” he said. “Many happy marriages have begun with less.”

“But not for me. Not after I had to endure such an arranged marriage that was miserable for everyone involved; surely you understand this!”

“And you are convinced such a union with me would be just as miserable?”

“Y-yes,” she sighed. “I am sorry, but yes.”

“You lie,” he grabbed her arm. “Why do you not admit it? You are waiting for Lieutenant Turamarth! Yet where is he? How long have you been waiting for word from him?”

“That is none of your business!” she tried to pull her arm away, but he tightened his grip. “H-How do you know I have not heard from him?”

He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Because I have all the letters you two have been trying to exchange. Now, Evranin, you are going to behave calmly and naturally as you come with me.”

“I will do no such thing!” She hissed then took a deep breath, ready to scream. 

He clapped his hand over her mouth and dragged her behind a pillar. “You will not make a sound. The Palace is about to explode any minute now, but you are going to help me remain hidden.”

Her arm bruised under his painful grip, and she frantically thrashed her body to be free of him.

“No, no, no, sweetling,” Saeros whispered in her ear, “you will calm down and behave yourself, because I happen to know where Lord Gwindor’s grandchildren are, and their lives are in your hands.”

Evvy’s eyes bulged as she froze, and met his hard gaze.

“If am captured, I might forget where they are, and those poor children will be left to freeze to death," he smiled, "and I know you would not want that. If you want them to live, you will do exactly as I tell you.”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Aewpin - _"Little Bird"

_Ai, baw! _– Oh, don’t!

_Alatúlie_ – (Q.) Welcome

_Aphado nin! _– Follow me!

_Ci athae _\- Thank you/you are helpful

_Ci vilui _\- Thank you/you are kind

_Essenya Adamar ná. _– (Q.) My name is Adamar

_Hantan len_ – (Q.) I thank you.

_Haru - _Grandfather

_Haruni - _Grandmother

_Hesto Adamar_ – Captain Adamar

_Hind Calen - "_Green Eyes"

_Ma hanyal ni?_ – (Q.) Do you understand me?

_Ma, Hesto!_ – Yes, Captain!

_Pînig - _My little one

_Vuin _\- Beloved

**NOTES:**

[1] _And Winter Came…_, Ch. 26: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/30451701>


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas does his utmost to step up to the plate in the King’s absence. Luckily, he has a wise advisor to help, but will it be enough to save the hostages?
> 
> Thranduil is desperate to get to the Palace, but Naurmôr is running as fast as he can. But there just might be a way to get the Elvenking there sooner…
> 
> Evvy can hardly believe her friend has turned into such a malevolent, dangerous stranger, with a sharp tongue tongue tears her insides to shreds.

_“You are not hidden_

_There's never been a moment_

_You were forgotten_

_You are not hopeless_

_Though you have been broken_

_Your innocence stolen_

_I hear you whisper underneath your breath_

_I hear your SOS, your SOS_

_I will send out an army to find you_

_In the middle of the darkest night_

_It's true, I will rescue you…”_

** _ “Rescue”  _ ** _ by** Lauren Daigle ** _

**The Woodland Realm, 8th of December 2944 T.A.**

“Kinging,” Bard had warned Legolas before he left Dale two weeks ago, “is mostly tedious work. Believe it or not, I find it more tiring than pulling nets in a boat from dawn to dusk!” he laughed. Then his face became serious. “One of the most valuable things your _Adar_ taught me was to be careful not to drown in it. Take time – no, _make time_ \- to do the things you love.”

They had been in the Sitting Room by the fire, while Thranduil was sitting at the game table with Tauriel, deep in concentration as he moved the pieces over the board. Tilda had all her stuffed toys lined up in a circle, and she was pretending to be a teacher, and Sigrid snuggled with Percy as he read aloud. Hilda, as always, had her hands busy with something, laughed at something funny her husband had said. 

“I have grown to cherish these evenings,” Legolas said, as his gaze swept the room, then settled on Bard. “I know my father helps you, but I think you have _saved_ him.”

“We saved each other, believe me.” Bard’s mouth curved upward as he twirled his glass. “I’m so glad you came home, son,” he said sincerely. “Yes, it made Thranduil happy, and I’m glad about that, but I want you to feel loved and appreciated for yourself, too.” 

“I do,” the Elf returned his smile. “Thank you.”

As he worked away in his father’s study, he appreciated his stepfather’s advice about balance. _Ai, gorgor_, _the papers! The lists! The endless reports! _

Slowly, Legolas was settling into his new role here at the Palace. Much of the job he already knew, but only from the fringes. For years he observed his _Ada_ and Galion, and often attended meetings, but only now did he grow an appreciation for his father’s patience for paperwork, and politics. How often, he wondered more than once, did the poor King sit behind this desk poring over documents, when he ached to be outdoors?

So, early this morning, he decided to take a bit of time off.

Legolas smiled as he finished braiding Alagos’s black mane. He had spent the last hour meticulously grooming his beloved stallion, and with each stroke he could feel the tension and frustration seep out of him. His father always found it relaxing to sit on a stool and polish his mithril armor, but this, for the young Prince, was the activity that calmed and centered him the most. 

There was no doubt the horse enjoyed it just as much, from the way he preened and posed like a potentate surveying his nation. He always like to toss his head and prance around to show off, and it never failed to make him laugh.

“The mares will be falling at your feet when I get through with you, _Mellon nîn_,” Legolas grinned. Alagos responded by whipping his head around and giving the hem of his tunic a nip.

“Stop teasing!” he chuckled and jumped back. “Hold still; I am almost finished!”

He had just finished tying off the last small braid, when Guardians Amrol and Haden, rushed into the barn.

“Prince Legolas! You must come back to the Palace, right away!”

“What is it?” he set down the comb and grabbed his cloak. “What happened?”

Haden exchanged a serious glances with Amrol, who swallowed and said, “Captain Adamar believes Saeros has attacked Lidros, and kidnapped Evranin. We have also just discovered that two of the Dale Fosterlings are also gone.”

“Why did not no one get me sooner?” he demanded, as he grabbed his cloak. “Where is Adamar?”

“He is near the Main Doors, My Lord.” Amrol said, his face pale. “It all… seemed to happen at once.”

The nearest door of the Palace opened into the Practice Arena, so Legolas threw his cloak over his arm and ran, his heart beating hard in his chest.

“How long since the children were last seen?”

“Two and a half hours,” Haden told him. 

“WHAT?”

“The school assumed they were ill, and the mother assumed they were in class.”

_Oh, Valar…_ Legolas glanced around at the snow on the ground and the ice on the trees. Ai, it was cold! “Did someone notify the King?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The trio flew through the Arena burst through the doors leading into the corridor and raced through the Palace. At last, they reached the walkway in front of the Dining Hall, where a crowd had gathered around Adamar as he gave orders: 

“All civilians are to stay in their homes, until further notice,” he shouted. “Help the parents collect the children from the school and check each apartment before you allow them to go in. Make sure you tell everyone to report any unusual activity, no matter how trivial!”

Legolas reached the crowd, and they parted in deference so he could reach Adamar.

“My Lord,” The Elf saluted, his face ashen with worry.

“Is the Palace locked down?” he asked.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Good!” Legolas nodded. “Adamar, I want half the soldiers in the barracks to search every single nook and cranny under these walkways. Leave no stone unturned.” He looked around. “Where is Ómar?”

“I am here, My Lord,” the Captain stepped forward, with Idril and Indis on either side of him.

“What do the Sentries in the trees report?”

“They have heard and seen nothing!” the Ómar spread his hands in frustration. “This leads us to believe the hostages must be somewhere in the Palace.”

Legolas shook his head and sighed. “Still, we will not take chances. How many hunting dogs are in the area right now?”

“Six, My Lord. The rest are out with their units farther South.”

“Get them, and their handlers. Assign three guards for each, then show them items of clothing from each missing person – including Saeros. Bring two of them inside, and see if you can get them to track their scent. Then take the rest and have them sweep outwards, from the Palace, behind every tree, every bush, everywhere!”

“Yes, My Lord,” and Ómar was off.

“Adamar, have you sent word to my father?”

“He should be on his way. I sent another bird as soon as I learned of the children.”

“‘Another bird?’” his brows pulled together. “When do you expect him?”

“Assuming they run, they should be here in three hours.”

Legolas swore under his breath. “Does he know of the children?”

“Not yet, My Lord, but he will learn about Evvy and Saeros very soon.” Adamar’s face was stricken with guilt.

“You will explain to me why I was not told about this first message!”

“I could not.” The Captain looked sheepish. “There was a matter I was to look into, and he placed the orders under Seal...” Adamar quickly explained about the missing correspondence. “I was instructed to find proof, and report back to him, that was all. I had no inkling things could be so much worse until just a few minutes ago; I am so sorry, My Lord—"

“No; if Lord Thranduil ordered silence, then you only were following orders. I highly doubt the King expected something like this either, or he would have told me. Still, we have all been keeping Saeros under careful surveillance; I cannot comprehend how he was able to accomplish so much under our very noses!”

“I… am at a loss, My Lord. We had suspected Lidros might be helping him, but we found him unconscious.”

The Elven Prince paused to consider, then said to Indis and Idril. “I highly doubt you need protection any longer, but still, go to your apartment, and wait. Haden!” he called to a nearby Guardian. “Go with them, and guard their door.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the Lieutenant saluted and politely escorted the _Ellyth_ away.

“We need to see what Lidros knows,” he told Adamar. “The others will continue to search, but I need you with me.”

“Of course, My Lord.”

They quickly jogged through the halls and walkways until they reached the infirmary, where they found Lidros on a table in the second treatment room, as a small group of healers worked on him.

“Is he conscious?” Legolas approached an assistant, who was carrying bloodied cloths.

“They are putting him in a Sleep, to help the swelling in his brain.” The _Elleth_ rushed past them.

The Prince entered the room, just as Mistress Ivárë was placing her hand on his brow. “Wait!” he called softly. “I am sorry, but must ask him some questions.”

“He should not talk, now, My Lord,” she said sharply.

“Well, he has to talk now!” he snapped. “An _Elleth_ and two children are missing, and anything he can remember might save their lives!” After a pause, Legolas closed his eyes and forced his nerves to calm down. “Forgive me, but I cannot take a chance.”

“One minute,” Ivárë scowled, “then he goes to sleep, is that clear? I am sorry for the others, but his life is in great danger.”

“I will be as brief as I can. Now, wake him up.” Legolas stepped forward and looked anxiously down at Lidros’s ashen face. _Please, Valar, please help me do the right thing,_ he prayed.

The Healer sighed, and reversed the spell, and Lidros slowly opened his eyes and winced in pain.

Legolas leaned down and whispered into his ear. “Lidros? It is Prince Legolas. Can you talk?”

The injured Elf tried to move his lips, but nothing came out.

“Here,” Ivárë took his hand. “Can you squeeze my hand, Lidros?” 

There was a movement in his fingers, so she placed the hand in Legolas’s. “Yes or no questions only.”

He nodded and tried again. “Lidros? Did you see who hit you?”

Nothing.

“You were hit from behind?”

A weak squeeze.

“Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

Another slight squeeze.

“A Guardian?”

Stillness.

“Someone you considered a friend?”

Lidros’s fingers twitched.

“Lidros, this is very important; do you think Saeros did this?”

The hand moved and trembled in his grasp, and the vibration traveled up his arm. Suddenly Lidros’s body went completely stiff and began thrash and jerk.

“Stop this instant! He is having a seizure!” Ivárë cried and pushed him away hard. “Out!” she pointed to the door. “Now!”

Everyone in the room placed hands on the Elf and sang lowly, until the body began to relax and grow still. 

Back in the hallway, Legolas’s stomach twisted with sorrow, and he searched the Captain’s eyes. “We learned nothing we did not already know, and I might have caused him irreparable harm…”

“You had to try, My Lord.” Adamar patted his shoulder. “Too often our choices are not between right and wrong, but between terrible alternatives. Sometimes, there is just no way to know.”

The young Prince searched the older Elf’s eyes, and saw truth in them. “But if he dies…”

“Now is not the time for these thoughts, _Mellon_. We must focus.” 

“Thank you.” He said softly, as his eyes rested on the pale, dark-haired Elf. He had always liked Lidros. 

Ivárë turned from the still figure on the table, dipped her hands in an alcohol solution and wiped them on a soft cloth, with a sad expression on her face.

“Will he live?” Legolas asked her.

“I do not honestly know, My Lord,” she said quietly. “I will not lie and say your visit did not make matters worse, but I do understand.” She tossed the cloth aside. “Who is missing?”

“Evranin, the Elf from the Golden Wood, and the adopted children of Gildor and Nielthi.”

The Healer’s hand rested on her throat. “_Ai, gorgor!_ And you say Saeros might be behind this?”

“We believe so,” Adamar answered. “We have no idea if the children are warm enough. Can you help us with that?”

“All I can say is if you find them in time, get them to me as soon as possible. Just a moment…” she went into the small room full of shelves and cupboards and took a small bottle from the top shelf. “It is best to put this in a hot, sweet drink, but in a pinch, can give them each one tablespoon and it should help until you can bring them home. I warn you; it is bitter, but make sure they keep it down.” She handed the bottle to Adamar, and pulled down a couple of thick wool blankets that look like they were lined with metal.

“What are those? Is that Steel?”

“No, My Lord. These were designed by Daeron when he worked in Old Dale. Since the Fosterlings came to the Palace, we have more need of them, as the children are fascinated with the outdoors and love to play in the snow. Unfortunately, they do not always know when it is time to come in. Use the silver against their skin, and the wool side out; it is made from an Ore mined by the Dwarves, and it will retain the heat from their bodies, and prevent more cold from seeping into their bones. It will also keep them dry.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I… Please; do your best to help Lidros.”

“We will,” Ivárë nodded grimly. “And our prayers go with you,” she sighed sadly. “Dylan and little Rowena are two of my favorite patients.”

“Ivárë!” an assistant called to her from inside the room.

“I must go, My Lord.”

And with that, she rushed inside and slammed the door in their faces.

“Is he…”

“We do not have time to find out, Legolas,” Adamar steered him toward the hall. “The hostages are our priority now.”

***************

“_Aran nîn!_ Look!” Captain Rahlen pointed to the sky.

Thranduil eyes followed the Vanguard’s finger, and his heart surged with faint hope. “_Daro!”_ he shouted, and the horses were reined to a standstill.

The screech of the large raven filled the cold air, as the bird swooped down several hundred feet ahead of them, and glided to their position.

“Let us hope it is good news, My Lord” Feren murmured beside him as the King held forth his left arm.

“Perhaps so.” Thranduil answered as the bird dug is claws into the thick vambrace and held still. The Elvenking pulled off his glove with his mouth, and removed the band from his leg, and gestured for the bird to leave.

_“De athae,” _He bowed his head to the Raven. “_Sevidh dhâf am mened.”_

But the black bird turned its beak toward the Elvenking, let out a low croak, and remain where he was.

Feren moved his horse closer. “What is going on?”

Thranduil deftly unfolded the paper and read the message. _“Naergon!” _he groaned. 

“What is it?”

“It is believed that Saeros has kidnapped not only Evranin, but two of the Fosterlings from Dale!”

_“Amarth faeg!”_ Feren gasped. “Who?”

“Lieutenant Gildor’s children,” his voice became rough, as his throat seized. “Quickly, Commander! Help me get this refastened. This bird is to go on to Dale and tell Lord Bard.”

Feren leaned over and assisted him in refastening it to the birds leg.

“Please, _Mellon_,” Thranduil said as he stroked the bird’s head. _“Make all haste to the King of Dale!”_ He threw is arm out wide and sent the creature off.

“How far are we from the Palace?” Captain Rahlen asked him.

“Another two hours,” he gritted his teeth and ground out, _“but we do not have two hours!_ _Rhaich!” _he screamed in frustration and a litany of curses flew from his mouth.

“My Lord?” Vildan moved forward on _Mistanâr_. “My horse can be swifter than any you have here. With your permission, we could switch, if your stallion would allow it.”

“But your mare is in foal; will it harm the filly she carries?”

“I honestly do not know,” he admitted. “A situation like this has never presented itself, but I can try to make her understand the urgency, and ask her to do her best. She would never endanger her unborn, yet we have been riding hard for the past hour and half.”

Feren met his eyes with a dubious look. “I do not like the idea of you riding without an escort.”

“Hopefully I will be too fast for an enemy to catch up,” he said. “We must try. Speak to your mare, Vildan, and I will explain to _Naurmôr_.” He swung his right leg behind him and landed on the ground. _Naurmôr_ eyed him as he came to stroke his nose and whispered to him in Quenya.

_“Meldanya,” _he whispered._ “I have great need of haste, and must ask to you bear the weight of another for a short while. Vildan is an Elf most worthy, and will show you respect and kindness. Please, do this for me, and be as swift as you can.”_

The great horse snorted and stomped his feet; clearly not happy to be thought of as slow, but he nodded and tossed his head in agreement.

_“Hantan len feanyallo, Naurmôr,”_ he kissed the wide, velvet nose and handed the reins to Feren. “Vildan?”

The Lieutenant patted his silver mare’s neck and smiled. “She understands that children’s lives are in peril, and will give you her best, _Aran nîn_.”

_“Egleria-Belain,” _Thranduil let out a sigh of relief, as he stroked the beautiful horses head. _“Hantan len,_ _Mistanâr,”_ he murmured. _“Haryuvan annalya homenyas.”_

He swiftly moved to the silver horse’s left side and jumped in the saddle. 

“Brace yourself,” Vildan warned with a smile, as he murmured the spell in the horses ear, then moved back to slap her rump. 

_“Noralarca!”_ he cried in Quenya. _“Call upon the spirits of your blessed grandsires, and show the King the meaning of haste! Fly, Mistanâr! Fly like the wind”_

_“Ae!” _the Elvenking cried, as the horse suddenly lurched and for a moment, he wondered if he really was flying.

Thranduil was a highly experienced rider, but to move at this speed! The road under his feet was a blur; did _Mistanâr’s_ hooves touch the ground? _Elo,_ if this is what a descendant of a Meara can do, how much faster could one of pure blood run? If the need were not so urgent and full of peril, he would laugh and enjoy it, but these nonsensical musings lasted a few seconds, and his focus returned to the task ahead. 

Where could Saeros have possibly taken them? His Army knew _every inch_ of that Palace and those woods! Every rock, every tree, every single bush, in his Kingdom was watched constantly! How could he get away with this?

He trusted Legolas to keep the Printer’s Assistant under close surveillance and he reported nothing amiss! Nothing! How could he have possibly gotten past the guards with hostages? He had not doubt of Adamar’s ability within the Palace, and there was no better outdoor tracker than Captain Ómar! 

An unfamiliar voice entered his thoughts:

_Stand in the stirrups..._

Thranduil’s eyes bulged from their sockets, and his concentration was lost. “_AI, GORGOR!”_ He squeaked, and just managed to keep himself from falling off, when he sensed the same wordless missive, as if _Mistanâr_ was talking to a petulant child:

_Lift your seat off of the saddle, and stand in the stirrups…_

Was the horse actually talking to him? 

Yet he did as he was told, and—

They were going faster. Instinctively, he lowered his head nearer to _Mistanâr_’s mane and within seconds, his icy blonde locks were blending with the rippled black of her mane as they glided over the road as if it was a sheet of ice.

Someday, he would ask this remarkable animal for the blessing of another such ride, but for now, he could only give thanks as he pictured Evranin’s face, along with the two children of Gildor.

_I will get you there, My King…_

_“Hantan tyen!”_ he shouted, and allowed himself a split second to wonder how much Vildan might charge for the filly _Mistanâr_ was carrying.

*************** 

  
The search was fruitless, so far, and the Adamar was beginning to lose hope. The dogs inside the Palace Gates led them all to the trail of the spot by the North wall, where the children’s bags were found, but there the trail stopped cold. Reports had been coming in from Ómar’s troops for the past hour: Nothing. They had widened their search in a ten-mile radius, and were now attempting to go further, but it was a desperate effort.

Gildor was frantic.

“I cannot stand by and do nothing!” the Lieutenant screamed at them. “They are _my children;_ can you not understand that?”

Luckily, Adamar understood what to do, and grabbed the agonized father and held him tight. 

The Guardian was stiff and furious and fought against him with all his might, but Adamar held fast, until his shoulders drooped. After a few minutes, Gildor slowly lifted his arms and clung to his Captain like drowning man, and cried out in agony. 

“Let it out, my friend,” he held the back of Gildor’s dark head, and murmured. “Let me bear your tears.”

Sobs wracked the Lieutenant’s body, and his knees buckled, but Adamar held him upright, though he had to fight his own tears of despair. What more could they possibly be doing? They had hundreds of troops searching, and there was no trace of any of them! Was there some sort of magic involved in all this?

He sighed and looked over his shoulder to observe the King’s son anxiously speaking to Elion, who was shaking his head sadly. Legolas was so young, yet he was steadfast and strong; proud, but not arrogant; inexperienced but wise enough to want Adamar’s counsel in his _Adar_’s absence.

The Prince turned and met Adamar’s gaze with haunted eyes, then turned away to compose himself, as Adamar held his Lieutenant until he settled down.

Gildor heaved a couple of sighs, and lifted his head. “I should not—”

“Yes, you should have,” Adamar corrected him gently. “Your wife could not have borne this; not in her condition, but I can. You were right to come to me.”

The Guardian swallowed. “You have my thanks, sir.”

“There is no need. Who is with your wife now?”

“Lady Emëldir and her husband. It was she who sent me to see you.”

“That is because she understands.” He put his hands on the Elf’s shoulders and studied his face. “Are you able to go back and be strong for Nielthi? She has never needed you more.”

“I think so, at least for now,” Gildor stood straighter. “The Healer sent us something to calm her nerves, but she wants to remain alert in case they return.”

“She is wise and brave, _Mellon_, as are you.” He turned the Lieutenant around and pushed him towards the corridor where their apartment is located. “You must go to her.”

After the Elf disappeared around the corner, Adamar took a moment to turn away and wipe his own eyes. 

“Is he…” the Prince slowly approached.

“For the moment, My Lord, but time is against us.” He sighed. “It is the middle of the afternoon, and the days are shorter.”

Legolas set his jaw. _“Pi law di chirib ned aduial, ti gwand.”_ He closed his eyes and murmured, _“Berio din.”_

“Protect them,” Adamar repeated the prayer of his prince to the Valar_. “Protect them, and keep them alive until they are safe in our arms.”_

Just then a messenger ran up to them.

“My Lord Legolas!” he shouted. “A rider approaches! Come quickly!”

_“One rider?”_ the Prince demanded furiously as they hurried to the Main Doors. “Why would the King only send one?”

***************

“Where are you taking me?” Evvy hissed, then stifled a cry when the grip on her arm tightened even more. “You know they will see us!”

“They will not, I assure you,” he grabbed the hair on the back of her head yanked it back and whispered into her ear. “But let me remind you, my sweet bird, if you alert them to our presence, they will never find those children and you will be responsible!”

They were outdoors and she shivered from the chilled wind, as Saeros dragged her toward a spot at what looked to be the side of a cliff. She managed to look down and see drag marks in the snow, and a small footprint here and there.

_Oh, no… those were left from the children…_

Just then several Elves approached, with a dog similar to Lord Bard’s leading the way. The giant hound snuffled a path in the snow and was headed straight for them.

Saeros clapped his hand tightly over mouth and nose, preventing any air from entering her nostrils. She gagged and tried to grasp for air, but he said, “Remember what I said.”

She held still, and forced herself to calm down, as her eyes filled with tears. How was all this possible? 

The dog began to bark and raced toward them, but Saeros raised his free hand and with a wave, the dog stopped in confusion and turned around several times. 

_“What is it?”_ the handler asked in Quenya, as the dog sniffed the marks in the snow and led them to the side of the high wall.

“This is where the children’s schoolwork was found,” the Elf said, as the fawn-colored beast eagerly sniffed a spot on the solid stone. He jumped to his hind legs, scratched the rock and began to bark. 

“But there is nothing here!” his companion said, and ran his fingers over the area, then curled his fist and pounded it in anger, and cursed. _“Siniath faeg! _What evil is a work here?”

Saeros kept them stock still, and Evvy’s vision was starting to go grey from lack of air, when suddenly the Elves gave up and dragged the dog away in frustration.

The hand loosened its grip and her vision began to clear. She sagged against him as the blessed air filled her lungs.

“I could have covered the marks in the snow, but it is of little consequence,” the Elf chuckled, as they moved over to that exact spot. 

“But—“

Saeros placed his hand on the rock, closed his eyes and began to speak in low tones. The language was not something she was familiar with, but just the sound of it made her skin crawl and itch as if she was suddenly covered with fire ants. She closed her eyes, lifted her hands and covered her ears to keep the foul sounds away.

“Come.” Saeros said in a grim tone.

When Evvy opened her eyes, there was an entrance before her. A large hole in the wall, where there was none before. 

“How…” she gasped.

But before she could finish the sentence, she was yanked roughly inside what appeared to be a large tunnel, and slammed against the wall to the right. She turn around to dash back outside, but more of those vile words scraped the air and the light from the outside went out.

“No!” she threw herself at the solid wall and bruised her hands trying to knock it down. “Help! Help!”

A soft chuckle escaped Saeros. “Scream as loud as you like, for no one will hear you in here.”

“What is this? Where are we?” she rested her forehead against the stone and began to cry. “Why are you doing this?” she sobbed. “I thought we were friends…”

“It suited me to let you think so,” he rolled his eyes and said in a mocking tone. “’Oh, Evvy, you are the only one who understands me!’ ‘Only you can help me change my life and from this day forward I will be such a wise and noble Elf!’ Thank you, for helping me see the light!’” he bowed with a flourish then burst out laughing. “Oh, my dear… Those big, innocent brown eyes were aching from lack of confidence, just begging for someone – _anyone_ – to come along and stroke that delicate, fragile ego of yours. You were begging for crumbs, weren’t you?” he huffed. “Crumbs!

“I really should thank your mother, you know. If it were not for her, you would not have crawled here on your belly, with that pathetic woe-is-me expression. Fool! You cannot believe the good that your friends tell you; you would only be convinced of your worth, if you could make a convert out of someone like me?”

Evranin’s mouth fell open and her vision blurred. “All I have ever wanted to be was your friend. I spent months defending you, asking people to just give you a chance!”

“I never asked you to do that. You convinced yourself that you were the only one who could ‘see’ the real me, and that made made you special! You did not do it not for me, but because _you loved how it made you feel about yourself! _Stars, Evvy,” he held his stomach and guffawed, “you,” he pointed at her, “you made it so easy!”

Her chest heaved with sobs. “Stop, please,” she whispered, “I beg you; stop. I do not understand.”

“I do not care enough to hate you; do you not see? Your life has no value to me whatsoever,” Saeros told her with a shrug, “except as a means to destroy Turamarth.” He examined his fingernails. “And that I plan to enjoy.”

“Tur? But he is not even here! I have hardly—”

“Do not be stupid! I know why he went to the Golden Wood this summer! He was following you, was he not?”

She defiantly refused to answer him, but her insides shook with fear.

“It matters not what you say,” Saeros chuckled, and paced back and forth. “ have the letters. At last,” he lifted a finger and grinned, “the son of Ómar, who tormented me with his arrogance and snobbery, has something he cares about so much, that to rob him of it may tear his _Fëa_ to shreds!”

“Tur hurt you? I cannot believe—”

“Oh, so now you decide you are a good judge of character? May I point out your folly stands before your very eyes? Methinks your mother’s constant criticisms might be founded in truth. She desperately tried to fix it, but,” he shook his head in mock sadness, “alas, you are weak, and simple, and will never really _belong,_ will you?”

The words he spoke had their root in just enough truth, that it shattered her. How many years did she cry in the dark, thinking such things about herself? Turamarth was in danger, maybe going to die, because of her. A worthless nobody.

“Well, this has been great fun, but we are nowhere near our destination. Get up.”

But Evvy’s body felt too heavy and her limbs wouldn’t move.

“I said,” he gritted his teeth. “Get. Up.”

“W-Where are you taking me?”

“To the children, if you must know. I’m sick of their whining.”

“I will stay with you,” she promised, “if you will just let them go—”

“But it would not be half so amusing, would it? Suppose you are correct, and your death does not destroy your precious Guardian, even in his weakened state?” he grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet. “Oh, I worried over that part of my plan, but then I thought, what if I made him cause the death of two innocents?” he shrugged. “Tell me: would you want to live with that on your conscience?”

“You have gone mad!” She stared up at him. 

“Am I?” he tilted his head and looked into her eyes. “Perhaps I am too unhinged to take you to the brats.”

“N-No,” her voice quivered. “I apologize.”

“That is much better. Now follow me, and try to keep up. And do not think of running off; you will only get lost among these tunnels, and the parents of your little friends will blame you.”

Saeros grabbed a stick from the ground, spoke a few words and the end of the wood flickered, then blazed. He did not bother to slow down through the endless twists and turns of these tunnels, nor did he even turn to make sure she was still there; he knew she’d follow. At one point, she stumbled and fell, hitting her knee on a jagged edge of rock on the ground, yet he did not stop to wait.

“If you look to me for help, I have no skill in the Healing arts. Sit there and lose the light if you wish.”

This Elf was a complete stranger! The enormity of her mistake slammed into her over and over. People were going to die because of her foolishness. Tur was going to die.

But as the flame from the torch grew smaller, she stifled a scream of pain, pulled herself to a stand.

Her insides were torn to shreds, but a single thread of stubborn will held fast and refused to break. She thought of little Dylan and Rowena and set her jaw. If she was going to lose her life, she would try to give those children some sort of chance. 

She quickly unfastened the silver bracelet Lady Galadriel had given her, and threw it on the ground, making sure to let out a whimper to cover the noise, and limped after him. 1

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Berio din _– Protect them

_De athae _ \- Thank you

_Hantan len,_ _Mistanâr _– (Q.) You have my thanks, _Mistanâr_

_Hantan tyen! –_ Many thanks!

_Haryuvan annalya oialëa homenyas_ – I shall eternally treasure this honor

_Meldanya_ – (Q.) My friend

_Natho nin,_ _Gilthoniel _– Help me, Varda

_Ni nathathodh… _\- I beg you to help me

Noralarca! - (Q.) Fly! 

_Pi law di chirib ned aduial, ti gwand_ \- If we don't find them before nightfall, they will surely die

_Sevidh dhâf am mened_ – You have my permission to go

**NOTES:**

[1] _Legolas, Ion nîn_, Ch. 34: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/46200085>


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare continues, as Saeros reveals his true nature to Evvy. 
> 
> Thranduil reaches the Palace, and finds help from a distant childhood memory.
> 
> The children, Dylan and Rowena are in serious jeopardy from hypothermia, as Evvy holds them to her and prays for help. Will she get it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are ready for our trip to Dale! The bus is leaving in a few days. I got a call from the travel agency-- I guess a group of Red Hat Ladies heard about our little quest and asked to come along. I said it was fine; the more the merrier, and anyway, it's the holidays, right?
> 
> 🎅🎅🎅

_“Of all the things I should've said_

_That I never said_

_All the things we should've done_

_Though we never did_

_All the things I should've given_

_But I didn't_

_Oh, darling, make it go_

_Make it go away…”_

** _ This Woman’s Work  _ ** _ by** Kate Bush** _

**The Woodland Realm, 8th of December 2944 T.A.**

Evranin gritted her teeth and did her best to keep up with Saeros, determined not to let him see her whimper with pain. _Please,_ she prayed, _please help me… _

The torch disappeared around several twists and turns, but the light that reflected against the walls of solid rock helped guide her through what must have been several miles of tunnels.

“I know you are still back there,” Saeros called. 

Evvy stopped for a moment to get her breathing under control, and took advantage of the darkness to remove the chain she always wore around her neck. “Where else would I be?” she growled. “You must slow down; my foot has been injured!”

With a disgusted sigh, the torch remained still. “If I must, but only for a moment. You are going to want to get to the children as soon as possible.

As she leaned down and carefully set it on the ground, she asked. “I beg you; now that you have me, can you let Dylan and Rowena go? They have done nothing to you!”

“Humans have no place amongst our kind!” Saeros shouted. “We are a proud and noble race, and our King has polluted the halls of the Woodland Realm with those foul-smelling, noisy, low-born beings who should not be sharing our food, let alone our homes! That Dragonslayer has bewitched Lord Thranduil, and our bloodlines are infected with beings who should be _serving_ _us,_ not living with us as equals!”

Evvy grimaced as she caught up. “The wisest among our people disagree, Saeros. Where did you learn such hate? I do not think your parents taught you this, and if you are so certain of this, why did you not simply join them in Valinor? Lord Thranduil would have granted you safe passage, and you could be with them in the Undying Lands, you know that!”

The haughty mask fell and remorse clouded Saeros’s features, but only for a moment, before he shook his bright red hair. “Alas, sweetling,” he smirked, “my place on the ships was forfeited decades ago, as were those of my parents.”

“Why?” Evvy’s brows drew together. “Everyone who knew your parents said they were kind and good. Surely, they have been welcomed on the White Shores, if all that is true! Or are they truly as cruel as you say?”

“Forgive me,” Saeros tilted his head in mock-regret. “I confess I was not entirely truthful about that. You see, Seldion and Heril never set foot in Valinor, nor did they even leave the Woodland Realm.”

A spark of horror pierced Evvy’s heart. “Saeros, where are your parents?”

“Their bodies were left thirty miles south of the Palace,” he lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Maybe spiders have feasted on their flesh and left the bones for the wolves; who knows? It matters not to me.”

“You…” she gasped. “You _killed your own parents?”_

“They were…” he searched for a word, “an unnecessary impediment and they had to be dealt with. I had no choice, you see.”

Evvy knees buckled in shock, and she landed on the ground with a hard thud. “You murdered innocents, Saeros!”

“’Innocents?’ Hardly! My own parents were going to betray me! I overheard my mother and father whisper one night. _Adar_ said I was a danger to myself and others, and they were going to go to the Palace and ask King Thranduil, to have me locked up, ” his mouth thinned until they almost disappeared. “’For his own safety,’ _Naneth_ said.”

“Wh… Why would they think that about you?” she asked, still huddled on the ground. “I do not understand…”

“Yes, you do! As I recall, you had a mother who behaved as if she was ashamed of you, yes?” Anger crept across his face. “Of all people, Evvy, I thought _you_ would understand the pain of that! Did you not tell me that your mother made you feel like a freak, sometimes?”

“Yes, I did, but—”

“You told me how much that hurt! Was that not one of the reasons why you showed me so much compassion and understanding?”

“That is true,” she admitted softly. 

His face twisted in rage. “My own mother said she was afraid of me, afraid of her own son! How could she and my father do that to me?”

“What happened that made her afraid?” she asked, in a soothing tone.

“Oh, they found all the animals I liked to play with. What was the harm? They shoot deer in the forest for venison, do they not? What does it matter if I had a little fun with cats and dogs?”

“The Elves who hunt do so quickly and mercifully,” she answered. “They always pray for the animal’s _Fëa_ and thank them for their sacrifice. That is not the same thing as causing a defenseless animal pain, purely for your own pleasure and you know it!”

“It matters little, now. What is done is done. If you think about it, I did my parents a kindness; when they leave the Halls of Mandos, they can enjoy a life in Valinor without me.” His eyes narrowed. “And I would have done the same for you, you know.”

“Done what?”

“If your mother were here, I would have gladly killed her for you,” he said earnestly. “She hurt you.”

“I would never want that, Saeros! Even if she were standing before us right now, I would beg for her life!” she pulled herself up to stand. “That is the difference between us, Saeros. You might think I am weak because I am shy and have been hurt, but I would never use my pain to cause harm to another, especially one who is blameless!

“You,” she shook her head, “are a monster, Saeros, but I do not hate you. You have killed innocents. You have forfeited your place in the Blessed Lands, and I feel desperately sorry for you.”

The Elf froze, and Evvy could feel some sort of internal struggle going on within him, and for a moment she held hope for whatever good might be left in him. Maybe she had gotten through to him and he could see reason.

But alas, it was not to be.

In a flash, Saeros lifted his hand and struck her hard across the face, and something sharp tore her cheek open. She fell backwards again with a scream and clutched her bleeding face. 

But his hand was unadorned.

_What…_

“Enough of this nonsense. Get up,” he spat at her, and roughly pulled her to stand again. “No more talk. Move!” He grabbed her wrist and yanked her mercilessly through the passages as she held her hand to her face and tried to stench the bleeding.

Their rough journey seemed endless, or maybe it was the pain in her foot and her cheek that made it so. With a sob, she lowered her left hand and the blood on her fingers made her mother’s ring slip off easily. When she dropped it, the loud sob of anguish that muffled the sound wasn’t fake. 

With every step, hope was farther and farther away. She thought of Turamarth, and started to cry again. She and the children would probably never be found; would he think she had left him on purpose? Her mind spun with all the things she wished she had the chance to say to him, but never did. And he would never truly know how much he meant to her, how many nights she dreamed of marrying him, living with him and bearing his children…

There was light ahead… but not that of a fire. The tunnel opened up and she found herself standing inside a large cavern about the same size as the apartment she shared with Elion and Airen. Two of the walls were of rough stone, but ahead an immense barrier of thick ice, which seemed to glow a light blue, along with all the colors of the rainbow. In before the frozen waterfall was a clear, deep pool, covered by a slick sheet of ice. Evvy raised her eyes and gasped at the immense icicles hanging from the tall ceiling.

“Over there,” Saeros told her, and pointed to the far corner to her right.

Two wrapped bundles topped with blonde hair, were lying still on some sort of pallet. Too still.

“Are they…”

“They are under a _losta-luith_,” he told her. “Go see for yourself.”

She stumbled over, dropped down on the blankets, and with her clean hand she felt their foreheads, and their hands, which were ice cold.

“They are freezing to death!” she cried. “Can you not at least make a fire for them?” Evvy searched the area in vain for some dry wood—

But there was nothing. Just stones and dirt and ice. “Please! Do not do this, I beg you!”

“If your Guardian does not come, it is better if they never wake up.”

She was going to curse him, but the pain in her cheek was a reminder to hold her tongue. “What do we do now?”

Saeros took a seat on the other side of the cave. “Wait for Turamarth, of course.”

“But he is ill, Saeros! He may not be strong enough to make the trip!” she pleaded. “At least take these children to safety, or help me find a way to keep them warm!”

“There is little wood for any kind of fire here, so let us hope he shows up, so the negotiations can begin.”

“You mean you want to bargain with Tur? Over what?”

“You, my little bird. Should your gallant Guardian reach us in time, he will never risk the lives of children, not even for you. He will give you to me, to free the children, then I will take you as my wife, while he watches.”

Evranin’s jaw dropped. “Never. I will die first!”

“Then you will die.” He shrugged. “Either way, I win. If you wed me, he will be destroyed, if I have to rape you, he will be destroyed, and if you die…” he waved a flippant hand and laughed. “Oh, will that not be a spectacular scene? A tragic story for the history books.”

Evvy closed her eyes and swallowed a sob, as she glanced at her surroundings.

Focus… Focus on something she could do… The children… They needed warmth, and quickly. There was only one Elf that might be able to help, but she was miles and miles away…

But it still was worth a try.

Evranin crawled in between the sleeping children and huddled them all under the blankets to share what body warmth she could. Then she closed her eyes, and after several deep breaths, silently prayed with all her might.

***************

“Make way! Make way for the King!” the Sentry shouted and the Main Doors to the Palace opened. 

Thranduil flew across the bridge like the wind, so fast he was certain Vildan’s horse would throw him over her head when she stopped.

He needn’t have worried. The silver mare gracefully slowed and came to a stop, as the Elves in the area ran up to him.

“My Lord!” Adamar took the mare’s reins. “How—”

“Take special care of this horse. She is in foal, and I want Falarion to check her over thoroughly to make sure nothing is amiss.”

The Captain of the Gates quickly handed _Mistanâr_ over to an attendant and repeated the instructions, as Legolas ran up to him.

“Where are the others?” he asked anxiously.

“Be at peace, or as much as one can be, _Ion nîn_. They are behind and should be here within the hour. Vildan offered the use of his mare so I might get here quickly.” He looked between the Prince and the Captain. “Tell me everything.”

After several minutes, Thranduil was brought up to speed, and ordered a meeting in his study as soon as possible. “Where is Lady Emëldir?”

“She is with Lieutenant Gildor and his wife. They are inconsolable.”

“Please arrange for someone else to sit with them, and send her to my study as soon as possible,” he told one of the guards, as they hurried to the Royal Wing.

“When will the others arrive, _Ada_?” Legolas kept in step with him.

“Within the hour, I hope. But we do not have that kind of time to spare, which is why I came as soon as possible.” He looked at the bundles in Legolas’s arms. “What are those?”

“Special blankets and medicine to warm them, if – no, _when_ – we find them.”

“Good idea. Keep them with you.”

Within fifteen minutes, several Elves were gathered in the King’s office, and each took a turn giving there reports. Thranduil had no doubt their search was a thorough and detailed as could be; the areas below the walkways had been searched, the outside perimeter had been gone over three times, the woods were thoroughly searched and so far, nothing had turned up within an eight-mile radius, yet they were still all looking. 

Not at trace; just the marks in the snow where it looked like the children had been, which ended abruptly. All paths led to those school bags, then nothing.

“I do want to mention the odd behavior of one of the dogs, My Lord,” Lieutenant Amrol spoke up. “The handlers took _Maenwen _over to the spot where they found the children’s book bags, but then she began to behave strangely.”

“How so?”

“She suddenly ran around in circles, barking furiously, then she threw herself up against the wall and whined and scratched, as if she was trying to dig her way in.”

Ómar shook his head. “I do not understand it either; that is solid rock!”

Something in the back of Thranduil’s mind began to niggle at his conscience. “Legolas, over there in that cupboard are some maps; find the one with the exterior of the palace and all the gates.”

The Prince jumped up, and Adamar went to help him fish it out.

“What are you thinking, Thranduil?” Emëldir asked him.

“I am not sure what I am looking for, exactly. It was so long ago…” he whispered. “Can it really be true?”

“Here it is!” Legolas held up the large, rolled up paper with triumph. “I think this is the one. Where do you want it?”

“On the table!” 

They quickly unrolled it, and weighed down the corners, as the Elvenking ran his finger over the grounds surrounding the Palace. “Show me exactly where you found those bags.”

Adamar and Ómar both pointed to a spot along the north wall. “Here, My Lord. 

Thranduil stared at the spot, then glanced over at Amrol. “And this is where the dog had a strong reaction?”

“Yes. All the dogs took us there but that is the side of the mountain; there is nowhere else to go!”

“_Ai, gorgor_…” Thranduil breathed. “What if it is true?”

“What if what is true?”

“There was a story my father told me as a child. Or at least I thought it was a story. I always used to ask him to tell me about the time he and _Naneth_ came to the Woodland Realm, and how they built the Palace, and once he told me…” he rubbed his chin. 

“What do you speak of, Thranduil?” Adamar and Ómar asked him. 

“_Ada_?” Legolas’s eyes bulged.

But the Elvenking didn’t respond. He raced over to his credenza, got down on his knees, open all the cupboards, and haphazardly pulled out its entire contents onto the floor.

“_Ada_? What are you doing?” The Prince picked up the discarded items and made room.

“I thought he was telling me a tale, but what if he was not?” he muttered cryptically. “Then one day I found him here, like this…”

By this time, everyone in the room was crouched behind him, probably wondering if he had lost his mind. Maybe he had. 

But if there was even a slight chance…

Thranduil carefully pressed his fingers along the top and bottom of the back of the cupboard with his thumbs, and pushed. 

No. Not there. Maybe it is the cupboard to the right?

He reached in and tried it again, but to no avail. Then he tried the one to the left, closest to his desk…

And they all heard a soft _click._

“Here it is!” he said with satisfaction. He pushed in again, and like magic, the back of the panel sprang open, just a bit. He carefully placed his fingers in the space and lifted out a piece of wood about ten inches by eighteen inches and handed it to whoever was behind him.

“A secret door?” Emëldir said indignantly. “Oropher had a secret hiding place?”

“Obviously,” Legolas said, with awe. “And no knew it was there?”

Thranduil reached in, grabbed the contents of the compartment, and crawled backward until he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by the mess he had just made, his arms full of scrolls.

“Come!” he jumped up and ran to the table and pushed the map to the side, as Ómar rolled it back up. He blew the dust off the bundles and checked them carefully. “These obviously were made before I was born, and they are delicate. But if they are what I think…”

Carefully he unrolled one of the scrolls, and spread it out, revealing a series of tunnels and storage rooms inside the mountain behind them, not unlike Erebor. “When I was a child, I was studying history, and of the deaths of Fingolfin and Glorfindel by the fell beasts of Morgoth, as well as the knew of the destruction of Doriath, and Nargothrond. _Ai, the nightmares I had!_ I did not speak of them to my father, as he lived through such things, and I would not hurt him with painful reminders.

“But one night, I woke up screaming, and _Ada_ came in and finally convinced me to tell him about the dreams I had been having. I cried as I did so. Then I also cried because I sorry I upset him. Then he told me a story of how Dwarves came to help.”

“But Dwarves did not make this Cave,” Emëldir corrected him. “Not according to any of our history books.”

“I said the same thing, but Oropher laughed and said he made sure no Elf would suffer such a fate again. He secretly hired Dwarves to carve out tunnels in the mountain behind us, paths with doors that could only be opened by a spell.” He leaned down and ran his fingers over the faint lines. I went back to sleep, thinking it was just a story to comfort a frightened Elfling, but…”

“He really did this,” Legolas breathed in wonder. “How did you know to look in the credenza?”

“I came into his study once, and found him sitting on the floor, much like I had been. He quickly chastised me for failing to knock first, but then told me he was just looking for his favorite pen. I thought nothing of it, until just this minute.”

“But why would he not tell you when you were older?” Emëldir pursed her lips in disapproval.

“Because he expected to come back from the War,” Thranduil sighed, sadly. “If you recall, I was just over seven hundred years old when I became King. Not much older than Tauriel. Oropher took it for granted that he had all the time in the world to be a King.”

“If all this is true, how would Saeros – and we assume _he_ is behind this, yes?” Emëldir looked around the room to affirmative nods. “How could Saeros open whatever secret passage this might be, if you need a spell?”

“I have no idea, but at this point, that matters little. We must first confirm this is more than a bedtime story.” Thranduil stood up straight. “Amrol, go find _Maenwen _and her handlers, and meet us at that very same spot. Adamar, Ómar, and Legolas, you will come with me and the dog, and we will go to this place and pray we can get the passage open, if there is one.

Thranduil turned to Emëldir. “My Lady, I ask you to remain, and wait for the others. If we can successfully access these tunnels, show them this, and then follow.”

“I will, My Lord,” she said, and stooped to pick up the detritus off the floor and put it away.

***************

**Lothlórien, 8th of December 2944 T.A.**

Galadriel was walking with Celeborn on the Forest Floor, smiling up at the winter sun, and the houses in the trees. She had always had faith in her Wardens and her people, and was glad to see it was not misplaced. They worked diligently to repair what damage had been done to the spirit of this fair land; evil may have touched them here, but they would not let it linger in their hearts.

Rúmil, one of the injured was now back at work at the fences, after careful nurturing by his brothers, though his smiles were a bit subdued. Gone was the carefree boisterous Elf she had been so fond of, yet was not Haldir the same way, before centuries of warfare sobered his countenance? Perhaps when their time in Middle Earth was over, with its trials and tribulations, her Marchwarden’s laugh might reach his eyes again.

_Help me, Lady of Light… I need your help, or they will die…_

The faint voice reached her mind, and she stopped in her tracks.

“_Meleth nîn?”_ Celeborn turned toward her with concern. “Is something amiss?”

“I…” she hesitated, then turned and headed toward their _Talan._ “Something is wrong, and she needs my help!”

“Who needs your help, and,” Celeborn put his hand on her upper arm. “Are you strong enough?”

“Evranin. And I hope so. Please, send someone for Óhtar and Orlin, and have them meet me in my Garden. I must fetch my phial!”

“I will also bring Master Gilfanon,” he said as he hurried away. “I cannot let you overdo things, _Hervess nîn.”_

Twenty minutes later, they crowded around the Mirror and prayed as Galadriel carefully poured the water in, using an incantation. 

They waited until the water stilled.

“Evvy!” Óhtar cried in anguish, as the disheveled image of his daughter appeared. There was a gash on her cheek, and a sleeping child was cradled in each arm. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and her fear was palpable.

Galadriel carefully lifted the finger bearing her Ring of Adamant, and waved it over the water, and Evvy looked upward. Without moving her lips, those gathered heard her say, _“My Lady, please help. I and two other human children have been kidnapped by an evil Elf named Saeros, and we are being held in an ice cave inside the mountain, near the Palace. These children will die soon; they cannot stand the cold! Please, My Lady; help them find us soon!”_

“Can you—”

“Shh!” Galadriel quieted Evvy’s father, then studied the water carefully. “Look about you, child,” she whispered. “Show me.”

As if on command, the young _Elleth_ slowly rotated her head as her gaze swept their surroundings, until they rested on the figure of Saeros, son of Seldion and Heril. 

“Who is that Elf?” Orlin demanded, “and what does he want with Evvy?”

“His heart is full of shadows,” Galadriel whispered. “His intentions are evil.”

_“Ai!”_ Celeborn groaned and ran his hand over his jaw. _“Another _thrall? Will we never be rid of these vile creatures?”

“No,” Galadriel whispered. “Not until the Evil One is overthrown, and our time here is ended. Yet while I do not believe that Elf is a thrall,” she studied the water carefully, “he is being held _‘in thrall.’”_

“That is good news,” he said.

“It is not, I am afraid. This Elf could be just as dangerous.”

“As a prisoner of some sort?” Óhtar asked anxiously. “Can you stop him?”

“She cannot.”

Gilfanon appeared in the Garden, and they all turned to see his stern face. “My Lady, you simply are not strong enough. You must allow your body and _Fëa_ to rest and recover, or next time, you may be beyond my help!”

“He speaks the truth,” Celeborn said, sadly, to Óhtar and his son. “She has never had the chance to regain her strength from Dol Guldur, and we helped my cousin and his daughter, then Pallando attacked just a few months ago.”

“But surely something can be done!”

“Master Gilfanon speaks true,” she said. “But keep in mind that our grandsons are there, and our cousin will do everything he can. Evvy does not appear to be gravely injured, despite the cut on her cheek, but her concern for the children is well-founded. Their body temperature is much too low for children of Men, and will not last much longer.”

She picked up her box and took out the Light of Eärendil.

“My Lady; I do not think you can—”

“You are correct, Gilfanon: I cannot,” she said sadly, “but there is one thing we are able to do with your help. Now…”

***************

**The Woodland Realm**

_Please, help me, My Lady… Please, My Lady; help them find us soon…_

She adjusted one of the blankets up to little Rowena’s chin. Her lips had turned blue, as did her fingernails, and her chest barely rose and fell when she took a breath_. It will not be long now, hênig,_ she smiled down and caressed the little girls face_. Just sleep, and you will be in the arms of your birth parents and they will greet you with joy…_

The ground underneath her changed slightly, or was it the blankets? No. She reached down and touched the ground next to her hip. Yes! Yes! There was heat! Not too much, but enough to slowly warm the children, thus saving their lives.

Save them for what? At this moment, it mattered not. Evvy sighed and opened her eyes, and looked around as a wave of comfort washed over her. Galadriel _knew,_ somehow, and that was all that mattered. The Lady of Light had heard her plea, and should the worst happen, Evvy knew she would not die alone. 

Someone knew where she was.

And if she did die here, then at least they could recover her body.

_Just save the children,_ she begged the Valar.

***************

The Elves gathered in area behind the Palace, near the face of the cliff. 

“Bring her forth!” Thranduil ordered.

Amrol clicked his tongue at _Maenwen_ and the dog trotted toward them, then skidded to a stop where they knew the children had been. She lowered her tawny head, buried her face in the falling snow and snuffled furiously, as she padded over to a smooth, dark spot on the rock.

_ “Evranin Ohtariel same maure rehtio, _Thranduil whispered in her ear as he stroked the beast’s head. “_Dylan ar Rowena samir maure rehtio_; _Á aþya me, medalya?”_

Maenwen whined as she sniffed the ground for a moment, then stood on her hind legs and whined loudly, as her claws scraped against the side of the cliff. “Woof! Woof!” 

“_Adar_,” Thranduil murmured to his departed father, “I pray the stories you told me were true…” he placed his hand at the exact point where the dog scratched, took out the slip of paper and recited the words written in the ancient tongue. Almost instantly, the rock disappeared and the Elvenking had to fight to keep his balance.

“My Lord!” Adamar grabbed the back of his tunic and set him to rights.

“It worked…” Legolas said dazedly. “I cannot believe—does Galion know about this?”

“I do not know, but I will certainly ask when I see him again,” Thranduil answered with a frown. “I should have been told, and not through a fairy tale!”

“Perhaps it was the safest way to tell you,” Ómar said. “No one thinks twice about a bedtime story, and perhaps Oropher hoped you would one day remember it.”

“Like a secret, hidden in plain sight,” Legolas nodded. “It makes sense.”

“At any rate, tunnels will remain a safe alternative, should the Palace be attacked; our enemy would not know where to look.”

“Perhaps,” the Elvenking agreed, “but that debate must wait. Now we must decide this: if we go ourselves, we can remain silent and retain the element of surprise. The dogs movements will be heard. Even if we covered her feet, the enemy could hear her breathing. Yet we could waste too much time wandering if we leave her.”

“We cannot delay,” Ómar said. “We must rely on strength of arms to face whatever sorcery brought us to this.”

“Agreed. Light the torches, and unleash the dog,” the Elvenking ordered. “Let us go!”

The five of them entered the tunnel, as Amrol took off _Maenwen’s_ lead. _“Tuvta! Tuvta! Tuvta!”_

And in they went.

A half-hour later, the dog stopped and barked as she dug at a spot in the ground. Thranduil bent down on one knee, ran his hand over the area until he heard a faint, tinkling sound. 

“Ae, _Aewpin_…” he smiled and held up the silver chain with the small charms, and told _Maenwen_, “I see you are not the only clever girl here.”

“What is it?” the others gathered round. 

“It is the bracelet Galadriel had given Evranin when she left the Golden Wood. Here, _Mellon_,” he showed it to the dog. “This scent should be fresher.”

_“Tuvrya,”_ he said. “Show us where she is.”

_Maenwen_ wagged her tail furiously then off she went once more. Eventually they found the silver chain Evvy used to hold her mother’s wedding ring. Another good sign. The Elvenking slipped into his pocked and said, “Good girl. And we will give them back to her as soon as we see her. But we must hurry!”

Thranduil and the others kept up a good pace, but suddenly the dog stopped at an intersection with three other tunnels, sat and whined.

The Elvenking grabbed the folded map in his inside pocket and checked their whereabouts.

“Do you think that son of an Orc found a way to throw us off track?” Legolas asked.

“If he did, this would be the perfect place… Wait; what is that?” Adamar pointed to a small object on the ground.

Legolas picked it up, and gasped, and the Elvenking’s heart was in his throat.

It was a plain gold band, covered in blood.

“Search the ground! See if we can find where Evvy bled!”

The five of them split up and headed down the three paths, and quickly a should went up. “Here, My Lord!” Ómar called out. “They went this way!”

Thranduil and Amrol turned around and back out. “We must hurry!”

A small, blue light appeared up ahead. There was shouting.

And a scream.

The Elves dropped their torches, drew their swords and ran.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_“Á aþya me, medalya._\- (Q.) Can you help me?

_Dylan ar Rowena yando samir maure alio_ – (Q.) Dylan and Rowena also need our help.

_Evranin Ohtariel same maure rehtio – _(Q.) Evranin, daughter of Óhtar is in grave danger

_Maenwen _– “Clever Girl” one of the large dogs bred in the Woodland Realm; a distant relation to Thangon, used to track and hunt.

_Tuvrya – _Find her

_Tuvta! Tuvta! Tuvta!_ – (Q.) Find them! Find them! Find them!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evvy and the children are trapped in a cave with a mad Elf, who has already committed murder – of his own parents! 
> 
> Our beloved heroes try to reach the hostages from several different directions, desperate to save them in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I might be frantically busy over the holidays, but I didn't forget my wonderful readers who were left a *coughcough* teensy-weeny little cliffhanger at Christmas!
> 
> 💋💋💋
> 
> Happy New Year!

_“Hang on._

_Help is on its way._

_I'll be there as fast as I can._

_Hang on,_

_Don't you forget who'll take care of you._

_It don't matter what you do._

_Form a duet let him sing melody._

_You'll provide the harmony.”_

_ By** The Little River Band** _

**Palace of the Woodland Realm, 8th of December 2944 T.A.**

Feren led the group of Elves on horseback as they crashed through the Main Doors of the Palace, quickly dismounted.

“Where is the King?”

Lady Emëldir raced over the walkway to meet them. “Commander! Lord Thranduil thinks he knows where Saeros has taken the hostages!”

“Where is he?”

“He has gone ahead,” Emëldir stepped closer with a cautious expression, “I cannot speak of it openly,” she murmured. “We must hurry to the King’s study, and I will explain.”

Feren turned and shouted to the group. “Dismount and follow us! Leave the horses saddled; we might need them.”

They raced to the Royal Wing and down the long hall to the Kings office, the last door on the left. Emëldir quickly unlocked the door, and gathered them around the table, and explained all that had happened that day, as she showed them diagrams Thranduil had found in the secret compartment.

“Tunnels?” Feren was surprised, but pragmatic. “We will follow them, then. They took one of the dogs, you say?” Feren asked. “How long ago was this?

“Less than a half-hour ago. We can send for another dog to follow with you; their scent will be fresher than that of Evranin and Saeros.” Emëldir sighed. _“If_ that is where they went, Commander. Nothing is for certain, unfortunately.”

“We have little choice but to foll—” Feren said, but was distracted by activity in his peripheral vision. “Turamarth? What are you doing?”

At the other end of the table, the Guardian was bent over one of the drawings, following one of the tunnel’s twists and turns with his finger. “Yes…” Tur murmured. “Daeron?” he lifted his head and called to his cousin. “Could you take a look at this, and tell me if you see what I see?”

The Elf stepped over to him and looked down where Tur was pointing. “What am I looking at?”

“See?” he picked up the papers and after looking over each one, he carefully put them back down in a different order. “Do you see how these connect? Like a puzzle?”

“We do,” Emëldir answered. “Or rather Lord Thranduil did. There was a smaller version of this, and he took it with them, along with the dog.”

“But, here, Daeron…” Turamarth pointed to a spot on the map. “Do you remember when we were Elflings, and that large waterfall that would freeze over every winter?” There was a cave behind it, was there not?”

“There was!”

Tur looked up at the others with a small smile. “No one else knew of the cave, and Daeron and I used it as a hiding place to escape our chores and schoolwork. Unfortunately, we could only enter when the falls froze over in the winter. We used to talk about digging out another entrance, but it was all solid rock. There was even a tunnel in the back, and we liked to explore it—"

“But it ended after a few hundred yards,” Daeron finished. “We made up stories about Cave Trolls who lived in the dark, or perhaps even a Balrog that might be sleeping somewhere in the darkness…”

“Which gave me nightmares,” Tur quirked an eyebrow.

“But it kept you from running off into the darkness,” Daeron shot him a dirty look. 

“The terrain looks the same, if you remember the dimensions of the cave… And see? The map ends abruptly after that.”

“Do you suppose King Oropher knew of this, was planning to use it as some sort of exit?” Emëldir asked. 

“You knew nothing of this? I still cannot believe it!” Feren was incredulous.

“I did not.” Ëmeldir shook her head. “Most of the King’s Council who served under Oropher were gone before I was born.”

Feren shook himself back to the present. “It matters not, at this point. If what you say is true, Tur, how far is this place you speak of?”

“You know it already, Commander; this tunnel ends at the Falls of Ninniach!”

“That is only four miles from the Palace bridge!” the Commander stood up in astonishment and ran to the other end of the table. 

“Perhaps that tunnel in the back had another secret door,” Emëldir wondered.

“If it is true that Oropher hired Dwarves to make this, I believe the same spell would work throughout the set of tunnels.” Feren held his chin, thoughtfully. “Dwalin and I talked about it one night at the Long Lake; it is a common practice.”

“You mean, it opens up everywhere at once?”

“No. Each door will ‘open’ for them, then automatically close behind. Erebor has many such tunnels to be used in emergencies. If their people needed to flee, the time it would take to stop at each door and repeat the spell could cost lives.”

“That is brilliant,” Emëldir agreed. “Our people could make a fast escape, yet prevent our enemies from following! But I do not understand why not even Galion said nothing about all this!”

“I do not know, My Lady,” Feren said. “But that is something to be dealt with later.” He turned to Daeron and Tur. “You are certain this path leads to those falls?”

“Yes,” Turamarth nodded his head.

“Tell us all you can about this place,” the Commander’s gaze returned to the map.

“The cave itself has a deep pool just before the falls, and it can look like polished rock when it’s iced over.” Daeron circled his finger around a spot. “Be very careful.” 

“But how do we know Saeros would take the hostages there?” Rahlen asked. “They could be anywhere!”

“We do not,” Feren rubbed his jaw. “But we have to try. I propose we split into two groups. Daeron, you and Tur will take Vildan and Elrohir and travel on horseback to this waterfall and try to get inside. Elladan, Rahlen and I will take another dog and we will follow the King’s path through the secret door and hopefully bring them some added support.”

“Thranduil used this spell to gain entrance,” Emëldir pointed to the set of runes on one of the maps. Her eyes widened. “What if only the King can open it?”

The Commander contemplated this for a moment then said, “I doubt that would be the case,” “The idea of those tunnels was to protect our people should they be in danger. If what you say is true, then Saeros would not have been able to gain entrance, however unseen.”

“The bigger question is, how _is _Saeros able to do these things unnoticed?” Rahlen asked. “From what I have been told, he has no remarkable gifts, like Daeron or the sons of Elrond! What power is at work here?”

“Lord Thranduil was wondering the same,” Emëldir’s lips pursed with frustration, “but for now, we all must concentrate on saving the hostages; those children cannot tolerate the cold, and will not survive for much longer.”

“Hence the presence of the sons of Elrond,” Feren assured them. “Their Maian and Noldor ancestry works in our favor.”

While they were talking, Emëldir copied the spell onto a small piece of paper and handed it to Feren. Then she picked up a satchel on the corner of the room and handed it to him. “These are supplies from the Healing Hall, should there be injuries. It might help, if you reach them before Lord Thranduil does.”

“Thank you, My Lady. You take it,” Feren handed it to Elladan. “Daeron, stop at the infirmary and have them equip you thus, on your way out. May the Valar bless your efforts. Go!”

Daeron nodded, as the others saluted and left the study.

An Elf named Eluréd appeared with a dog from the barracks, and the animal’s claws clicked on the smooth white floor of the Royal Wing. “This is _Bellhim, _Commander; he is just a year old, but has already shown great promise.”

Feren squatted down, held the dog’s face, as he gazed into the deep brown depths. There was an intelligence and strength he liked in the dog. _“Mai omenina,_ _Bellhim,” _he murmured. _“Samin maure alio; qui lá hirilve Dylan, Rowena ar Evranin, natte vanwe.”_

Bellhim took a step and began to whine as he licked Feren’s face. 

“What a intelligent boy you are,” he nodded. “Do we have items of their clothing?”

“Here,” Emëldir handed the items over. “I will be with Gildor and his wife, and we will keep you in prayer.”

Feren bowed and saluted. “May your prayers be answered, My Lady.”

And the Elves quickly left to follow their King.

***************

**City of Dale**

The Elven guard ran up the steps to the Castle. “I have an urgent message for the King!”

The doors opened quickly, and he ran inside to find Cwën standing with Rhian. “Nuirin!” she smiled at her colleague. “You seem to be in a hurry.”

“I have a message for the King of Dale; where is he?”

“He went to check some water damage in the apartments near the Healing House with my Da. Why?”

“A bird came!”

“Aye,” she said. “Two of them this morning.”

“This is a third, and it is for the King of Dale.”

“I’ll find Lord Percy, in case he’s needed,” Rhian told Cwën. “Help him find Lord Bard, quickly.”

“Yes, My Lady. Come on!” the Warden ran past the messenger out the Castle door. 

***************

“Do you see anything, Ruvyn?” Ben asked, as he stood next to Bard and Norin, a Dwarf from Erebor. “What’s going on up there?”

“I found the source of the leak, My Lord!” Ruvyn called down. “There was a crack in one of the tiles, and ice formed underneath it.”

“’ow many de we need te fix it, ye ken?” Norin had his hands around his mouth and yelled up.

“There is no need to shout, Master Dwarf; I can hear you,” Ruvyn stepped easily over the rounded clay tiles and dug through some of the snow with his hands. “In this area, I should think no more than five or six. Shall I check the entire roof?”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Ben said. “It could save a ton of problems later.”

“Should we have all the roofs checked?” Bard asked.

“These be good, solid roofs,” Norin said, with an air of dignity. “A few breeks ‘r common, but I’ll not ‘ave ye actin’ like they be made outta toothpicks!”

“He’s right, Bard,” Ben was quick to say. “If these rooftops were faulty, we’d have known it the first three winters. This is only a minor problem.”

“My apologies, Master Norin; I meant no insult,” Bard bowed low to the Dwarf, in the manner of the Erebor folk. “I am only cautious because this row of buildings house our elderly, and they can’t manage such maintenance themselves. Many of them still struggle with injuries after the Battle.”

“Aye, I shoudna’ been hasty, Me Lord,” Norin returned the courtesy. “A’ve traveled in my lifetime seen places who pay no heed te their old and infirm. ‘s criminal, ah tell ye; when grey haired folk are walkin’ ‘round in rags and livin’ under bridges...”

“Like the Master of Laketown?” Bard clapped his hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder. 

“Dinna ken ‘im, but some part’s o’ Bree’d turn yer stomach.”

“Well, thanks to the Elves and Dwarves, we’ll take good care of them here.” Bard lifted his head and opened his mouth to say something to Ruvyn, when Cwën and another soldier ran toward them.

“What’s going on?”

“This, My Lord,” the young, blond elf nodded and handed him the small piece of paper. “A raven just landed in the Aviary.”

Bard exchanged glances with his companions as he opened the note. 

“Oh, bloody fuck…” he whispered, his heart was in this throat. “Ruvyn!” he yelled. “Get down here! I’ve got to go!”

As Ruvyn walked to the edge of the building and swung down, Ben took Bard’s upper arm. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. “Is it my son-in-law?”

“No, but they think this Saeros sonofabitch kidnapped two of the fosterlings living at the Palace!”

“Oh, shit,” Ben fell back on his heels. “Look; I’ll get some other Elves up there, and Norin and I will make sure the roofs are good, yeah? You just take Ruvyn and do what you need to do!”

“That all right with you?” Bard quickly asked the Dwarf. “I need to go.”

“Get ye gone, laddie,” the Dwarf jerked his head toward the Castle at the top of the City. “Ah’ll get word te King Dáin an’ ‘e’ll look after thin’s.” The gruff, swarthy Dwarf shook his greying beard as he offered his hand. “If ye need any ‘elp getting’ those bairns safe agin, just holler.” Mahal be wi’ ye all, lad.”

“Thanks; truly.” Bard clasped his wrist briefly then ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

_Oh, gods…_ He remembered Gildor talking about his new children, just after Tilda became so sick. He and his wife were excited to be parents, and spoke of his son and daughter with such fondness... 1

Percy and Hilda were waiting for them at the Castle, and Sigrid had his bag packed. Galion had laid out his armor on the bed.

“Thanks, darling,” he hugged his daughter. “Tilda’s going to have a fit when she gets home from school to find both her Da’s gone.”

“Don’t worry about it. Uncle Percy and the rest of us will look after things.”

“Auntie Hil, too,” he turned to let her buckle his breastplate in the back. “Sigrid?”

“Um… Auntie Hil insists on going, too— Hold still, Da!” 

“She can’t! We’ll be riding at top speed, and—”

“Nevertheless, I’m going,” Hilda stalked into the room, wearing…

“Where did you get those pants?” Bard gasped. 

“They’re Percy’s, and yes I am riding with you. Those kids are my responsibility too. I was the one who placed them with Gildor and Nielthi. They’ll need me.”

Sigrid stared open-mouthed at her Aunt. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your legs before.”

“You still haven’t,” Hilda gave her a snide look.

“But you hate it when Tilda runs around in leggings!”

“They grow on me. They’re practical for riding, it isn’t a cold day, and the sun is out. I’ve already spoken to Tauriel, Bard. She’s lending me her stallion, who can’t stand to be away from Vildan’s horse, and this will give the lad incentive to get there faster and in one piece.”

“But your arthritis!” Sigrid said.

“Elénaril was just here with a spell and a potion, so I won’t get too cold in the wind, and my hips won’t get inflamed. We’ll have an Elven escort, and there’s an infirmary at the Palace.” She looked at Bard with eyes of steel. “But _I am_ going,”

“If anyone is interested in my opinion, I think you look good in my trousers,” Percy came in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve always said you had a sexy behind; now everybody gets to see it for themselves.”

“Percy!” she blushed deep red, then smiled up at him. “I do love you, you know.”

“I know,” the Steward kissed her nose. “And if you didn’t insist on going to look after those _babinods,_ I’d be disappointed.”

“Me, too,” Bard smiled at her. 

“Gildor and his wife need my support. Dylan had a hard time adjusting after Laketown, and it took a long time for that boy to feel at home. And Rowena’s just a shy little thing; I need to make sure she’s going to get over all this…well, whatever it is that I just can’t think about.”

“That’s the spirit,” Percy kissed her brow and put his arm around her shoulders. “One foot in front of the other.”

“Well, lets get going then,” Bard grabbed his helmet, and the sword from his stand in the corner. 

“Take this, love,” Percy handed her a small knife. “The Elves won’t let anyone near you, but it’ll make me feel better.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this, Auntie!” Sigrid ran down the steps after them. 

“Believe it or no,” she called back casually. “I’ll survive, but those kids might not, and I won’t let that happen.”

“And that,” Percy looked back at the girl with a wink, “is why we call her ‘The Mother of Dale.”

Tauriel had been summoned from her duty with Bain, and Cwën took her place while she fetched _Lasbelin_ and got him ready. She was whispering to him and stroking his nose in the Courtyard as Bard and the others came down the steps.

“He will run as smooth as glass for you,” she told Hilda, “and swift as the wind.”

“I have a feeling his ‘swiftness’ will be more about the young Vanguard’s mare.” Hilda opened her arms and enveloped the _Elleth_ in a bear hug. “Look after the kids and my Percy, and take care of yourself, too,” she whispered. “Thank you, lovey. You’re a precious girl.”

Tauriel smiled, kissed her cheek, then went to hug Bard. “My prayers go with you, Bard.”

“_Ci vilui,”_ he murmured. Then he and the others mounted up and rode off.

***************

**The Woodland Realm**

_Please… let her be safe,_ Tur prayed, as _Sandastan_ carried him to the spot they were speaking of. She _had_ to be there! Every moment counted and it had been almost six hours! She could already be—

_No,_ he reproached himself. He couldn’t afford to think like that.

When Daeron had pined for his Rhian, Turamarth was as supportive and understanding as he could be, but it was only now that he truly understood that kind of anxiety. It was almost torture, because at last he admitted to himself the depth of his feelings for Evranin Ohtariel.

He was in love with her. She was his One, and for him, there would be no other. And with that admission came the knowledge that, while he may not be completely healed from Pallando’s torture, he wanted to be with her.

_Please,_ he prayed again. _Just let us both live long enough so I can tell her how I feel! _ _Help me – help _us _– save all of them!_

“Tur?” Daeron called over to him. “Are you well? How do you feel?”

“Do not worry about me, _Gwador;_ just worry about Saeros, when I get my hands on him!” he shouted back.

At last, the waterfall was in sight, and the Elves dismounted and carefully made their way down the icy slope. Elrohir stopped suddenly. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness and his face lost some of its color.

“Do you sense something?” Vildan hissed.

“There is… an evil at work here that is beyond the skill of any Elf.” Elrohir whispered, and he paled slightly. “Daeron? What do you feel?”

Daeron shook his head. “I am not sure. Could he a _thrall? _I would say this had something to do with Pallando, but it would be impossible; he is dead!”

“I am not sure, but we must be cautious.” Elrohir drew his sword, as did the others.

They crept down the frozen, bumpy trail, and were just outside the opening when a menacing voice boomed from the darkness within:

“Do not come any closer, or I will kill these children!”

Daeron and Tur exchanged wide-eyed looks with the others. 

“Please!” a frightened female screamed. “Do as he says!”

Despite the threat, Tur heaved a sigh of relief. Evranin was alive, and so were the children.

“Saeros!” Daeron called out, “prove to me that the hostages are unharmed, and we will cooperate!”

“You are in no position to make demands of me!” came the angry reply. _“I_ am in control now, and if you try to charge in here, I will leave it to you to explain to Gildor and Nielthi why you let their precious fosterlings die! It matters not to me; I do not need them any more.”

“No!” Evvy cried. “Do not do this!” 

“Quiet!” The sound of a slap was followed by a shriek of pain, which made Tur’s stomach curdle.

“Saeros!” he screamed and started forward.

“Excellent!” the Elf’s laugh was sardonic. “I see Turamarth, the mighty son of Ómar has decided to make an appearance, after all. I thought you would never get here!”

“Tur! Do not—” but her voice was muffled.

“Silence! Or do you want me to silence you?”

There was a small whimper, followed by a sob. 

“Evvy does well to warn you not to come in, Turamarth, for she knows it is you I want. Enter alone, and leave the rest outside, or you will be carrying their corpses back to the Palace!”

“What do you want of my cousin, Saeros?” Daeron demanded.

“That is _my_ concern, and none of yours. If he wants his little friend from the Golden Wood to live, he will wisely keep you from following.”

“_Gwador_,” Tur grabbed Daeron’s arm. “I must do this.”

“But you are not at your full strength yet! I cannot let you go in there and kill yourself!”

_“I am a Guardian,”_ Tur gritted his teeth. “And if, by my life or my death I can save Evvy and the children, then I will! I have to! Stay near the entrance, and rely on Elrohir to help from your position, if he can.”

“I think he speaks wisely,” the son of Elrond agreed. “We will not risk their lives needlessly.”

Vildan agreed with a sharp nod and Daeron sighed as he grasped the back of Tur’s neck and brought their foreheads together. “I am sorry I doubted you, _Gwador_. You are a Guardian, first and foremost, and I know you will defeat Saeros or give your life in the attempt.”

Turamarth whispered, “If you hear me say the word _‘Mallorn’_ then you will know the way is clear for you to come in.”

“I love you, brother of my heart.” Daeron said with deep sincerity. “Go get your _Elleth_,” he smiled, “and I will dance at your wedding.”

Turamarth turned from his cousin and called inside. “Saeros! I am coming in alone!”

He took a few steps toward the icy arch, but stopped when the command came.

“You will leave your sword and all your weapons outside!”

Vildan, Elrohir and Daeron looked on in horror as Tur unbuckled his sword belt, and dropped his knife.

“And the weapons in your boots! I know you have them!”

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly as he removed the small throwing knives from his boots.

“I am unarmed! May I enter to see if the hostages are safe?”

“Slowly.”

Step by step, the Elf walked across the frozen waves and under the long icicles of the arch. “I am here, Saeros, and I come unarmed.”

“Come closer and lift your arms.”

Saeros was standing at the other side of the black, frozen pool near a small bed where two blanketed children mercifully slept. His forearm was wrapped around Evranin’s neck and a sharp knife was pointed at her jugular.

“Tur, please,” Evvy sobbed. “It’s me he wants; let him kill me and you take the children—”

“I said,” Saeros smacked the side of her head with the butt of his knife, “be quiet!”

At her cry of pain, Tur took a few steps forward.

“Back off!” the Elf sneered, as he looked him up and down. “Take off your boots.”

Tur bent down and did what he was told. “See? No hidden knives. What do you want with her? She has done nothing to you, except be your friend!”

“Which is why I will claim her for my own.” Slowly Saeros lowered his arm, but kept his knife pointed at her. “Evvy is mine, Guardian, and you will witness our joining. And before you say I will take her against her will, you should know she has accepted my proposal.” He smirked. “Tell him, Evranin.”

“I have to,” she whimpered. “He promised that if I married him, he would let you and the children live. Please; Tur. Just let me do this, and tell my father and brother how much I love them.”

“This is not what you want, Saeros,” Tur held his hands out and spoke calmly. “All our lives you have hated me, and for what? And child’s foolishness? I apologized centuries ago for my bad behavior and did my best to make it up to you! I was sorry then for my behavior and I am sorry now, because that was not the Elf I wanted to be!

“But this? Surely this is not what you want for yourself, Saeros! You have let your anger turn into rage and it has consumed you, twisted you into something I do not even think you recognize! That,” he said with a hint of sadness in his voice, “was not my doing. If you have become so full of hate, you did it to yourself!”

“Perhaps that is so,” Saeros shrugged. “What if I have?”

“You have nearly killed your friend Lidros! He lies comatose in the Healing Hall, and if he recovers, he will mostly likely be damaged permanently! What did he do to you? What do those children have against you that makes you think you are entitled to take your anger out on them?

“And,” Tur took a deep breath, and said, “if you think I have any special attachment to Evranin, I must tell you that you are mistaken; I am here in my capacity as Guardian, that is all.”

His eyes shot over and met Evvy’s, desperate for her to understand what he was trying to do, praying she understood. Her eyes bulged for a moment with hurt and abandonment, and her jaw went slack. But after a second or two, she closed it and gave him the slightest of nods. As she turned her head away from her captor her right eye twitched in a slight wink.

_Praise the Valar,_ he thought. 

“Oh, please!” Saeros began to laugh. “Did you really expect me to fall for that?” He turned to Evvy and mocked. “By the way, I also must have underestimated your powers; you found a way to keep the children from freezing. However did you warm their cot?” he pointed. 

“It was not me, nor was it anyone here” Evvy answered, looking him in the eye. “My Lady watches over her subjects, even those far away from her.”

Saeros’s face struggled and twisted, as he spat, “Do you expect me to believe Galadriel interferes?”

“Search your heart, if you still have one,” Evranin said boldly. “You know it’s true.”

_“Niñ gwerianneg!”_ his hand struck her across the face with deadly force, and she fell with another scream.

_“Dagon chín!”_ Turamarth, Guardian of the Woodland Realm, defender of the weak, ran to her, though his feet were slippery on the cold ground. _“Pen-ind orch!”_

***************

**Lothlórien**

_“if you think I have any special attachment to Evranin, I must tell you that you are mistaken…”_

The Elves gathered around Galadriel’s mirror leaned closer at the scene, as Óhtar gasped in surprise. 

“_Ada_,” Orlin put his arm his father. “It is but a ploy. Tur hopes to convince this Elf she means little to him, in hopes that this Saeros will not use her as a weapon against him.”

“But Evvy does not know that! She is hurt and frightened for her life; this will only make things worse for her!”

“Peace, Archivist,” Galadriel smiled as she waved her hand over the water, and whispered something so soft they could not hear.

Evvy’s face went from surprise to understanding, and a peace came over her. She nodded and turned her head slightly so that Elf couldn’t see and winked at the Guardian.

“She understands,” the Lady said.

The dark Elf was pointing to the children, and asking Evranin how she saved the children, and when she stood proudly and spoke Galadriel’s name, he struck her down.

“No!” Óhtar and Orlin shouted in anger and grief.

Galadriel raised her arm to strike but Celeborn grabbed his wife.

“No, my love! You are too weak to interfere any longer!”

“But—” Óhtar began.

“She cannot,” Master Gilfanon ordered.

“As difficult as that is, I must agree,” Orlin shook his head sadly.

“Óhtar,” Celeborn said calmly. “I know my cousin and by now he has them surrounded. I also trust Turamarth.”

“But was he not suspected of murdering Mahtan?” Óhtar shouted in his anguish.

“_Adar_, you know he was not responsible,” Orlin dropped his arm and stepped away from his father.

“But what if they did so because he is untrustworthy?” He said, weakly. “That is my daughter!”

“I have faith in the Guardian,” Galadriel skewered the Archivist with an angry glare.

“As do I,” Celeborn seconded. 

Óhtar grabbed his head and wept. “I am sorry; I just cannot lose our _Aewpin!”_

“This is out of our hands, now, _Mellon nîn_, and we will pray to the Valar with all our might. But I promise you,” he looked deep into Óhtar’s eyes. “If anything happens to Evvy, she will be avenged, even if I have to travel to the Woodland Realm myself. As a matter of fact…”

The Lord of the Golden Wood turned to his guards and gave the order:

“Make preparations; we leave for the Woodland Realm within the hour. Whatever happens,” he looked around the table. “We will be needed.”

***************

**The Woodland Realm, under the Falls of Ninniach**

_“Tur, avo!”_ Evvy sobbed, her heart in her throat, as the scene before her unfolded. She was still on the ground, holding her face.

“You bastard!” Turamarth leaped across the pool and raced toward Saeros, easily dodging the swipe of his knife. Then he swung hard and punched him in the face. “Only a sniveling, conniving coward would prey on those weaker than yourself! If you wish for a fight, here I am! Come at me!”

Saeros recovered from his punch, a small trickle of blood dripped from his nose, as Tur spread his hands wide.

“What are you waiting for, you spineless worm? Are you afraid?”

“_Daro!”_ Evvy screamed, again and again. “He will kill you, Tur! He already killed his parents; he told me!”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted it, because Tur stopped for a half-second, and it was just the distraction Saeros needed to attack. He roared and went for Turamarth, wielding his knife, ready to strike, and soon they were rolling on the floor, wrestling for control. 

_“Mallorn!”_ Tur let out a strangled yell, as he and Saeros tumbled onto the ice of the pool, their hands and feet scrabbling to find a hold. The Guardian was trapped underneath the Elf, but his stockinged feet refused help him move. The knife skittered free, and Tur tried to reach for it, but he was too slow. 

Daeron, Elrohir and Vildan raced inside, and looked on in horror as the two Elves wrestled with each other. 

“The children are here!” Evvy yelled as she stood up. “Help them!”

Saeros had grabbed the knife and with both hands tried to drive it into Turamarth’s throat, but Tur was holding his arms aloft with all his might. But the point of the knife inched closer, and was almost touching…

“NO!” Evvy screamed and ran out onto the ice and threw herself against Saeros to knock him off.

***************

Thranduil and the others dropped their torches and they ran toward the blue glow up ahead, toward the sound of Evvy’s scream.

_“Noro, Maenwen! Noro!”_ Amrol ordered the big dog to race ahead.

“Tell her to be silent,” Thranduil said. “I do not want to startle them.”

_“No dhínen!”_

At last, they reached the source of the light and came out into the back of what was a cave behind a glowing blue light of a winter waterfall. 

Daeron and Elrohir were hovering over the children with worried faces, Vildan was by the side of the pool, and leaped toward the two struggling figures in the middle of the smooth sheet of ice, but Evranin beat him to it. 

It all happened at once.

Turamarth lay on the ice panting, just as Vildan reached him.

Evvy and Saeros rolled over several times, until they came to a stop with him on top, the knife sliding a yard away. Furious, he straddled Evvy and put his hands around her throat.

A loud rumble shook the air.

_Crack!_

_ _

Saeros had only enough time to look up.

Evvy only had enough time to close her eyes and try to shield herself behind Saeros’s arms.

Vildan had only enough time to grab hold of Turamarth.

Thranduil, and the rest only had enough time to watch helplessly…

…as a group of gigantic icicles broke free from the ceiling.

“Get the children out of here!” The Elvenking screamed as the chunks fell, breaking the ice in the pool…

…and Saeros and Evvy disappeared into the bitter cold water.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Dagon chín!_ – I will kill you!

_Maenwen_ – “Clever Girl” one of the large dogs bred in the Woodland Realm; a distant relation to Thangon, used to track and hunt.

_Mai omenina,_ _Bellhim – _(Q.) Well met, Bellhim

_Niñ gwerianneg! _– You betrayed me!

_No dhínen!_ – Be silent!

_Noro, Maenwen! Noro! _– Run Maenwen! Run!

_Pen-ind orch! _– You spineless Orc!

_Samin maure alio,_ _meldanyo; qui lá hirilve Dylan, Rowena ar Evranin, natte vanwe. _– (Q.) I need your help my friend; if we don’t find Dylan, Rowena and Evranin, they will die. 

_Tur, avo! _– Tur, don’t!

**NOTES:**

_Babinods_ – Welsh word for babies

[1] _And Winter Came…_, Ch. 26: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/30451701>


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evvy kept Saeros from killing Turamarth, but now she’s trapped under the ice in freezing water. Can they get her out in time, or will she pay the ultimate price for her heroism?
> 
> We also learn a bit more about our villain - what brought Saeros to all this? You might be surprised at the answer.

_“But high up above or down below_

_When you are too in love to let it show_

_Oh, but if you never try, you'll never know_

_Just what you're worth_

_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try_

_ to fix you…”_

_ by** Coldplay** _

**The Woodland Realm, 8th December 2944 T.A.**

_“Get the children out of here!” _Thranduil ordered sharply. _“Get them into the tunnel, now!”_

Turamarth barely registered the Elvenking’s words, nor did he notice his cousin and Elrohir pick up the children and race into the back of the cave. He could not take his eyes off the horrifying scene before him. Vildan had hold of his upper arms and was dragging him off the slick ice before the ceiling fell. 

“No!” He jerked free from Vildan’s grip and quickly unbuckled his armor. “Help me get this off!” he screamed at the Vanguard as his hands nervously fumbled with the buckles under his arm.

Vildan hesitated, then quickly undid his breastplate. “I am afraid you might drown as well.”

“Better that than to stand by and let her die! Hurry!”

Tur looked across the surface of the pool to see that Lord Thranduil was demanding the same from Amrol, and he was also divesting himself of any excess weight. 

As soon as the last piece clattered to the floor, Tur prepared to dive in, but stopped when Legolas yelled, “Wait, _Ada!” _ The prince reached into the bag and pulled out a rope and tied it around Thranduil’s waist. “Emëldir gave me these to take Saeros prisoner. If you find them, tug and we will pull you out.”

The Elvenking nodded “Get another one around Tur’s waist and hurry!”

The Prince tossed the other rope to Ómar who caught it and rushed over to his son. “Your Uncle and I have you; when you find her, lock your arms around her waist and keep hold, and we will bring you to the surface.”

“I will,” he promised.

“But know this,” Ómar held is face and looked into his eyes, “if Uncle and I fear for your safety, we will bring you back, regardless. I love you, _Ion nîn_.” His voice wavered. “I cannot lose you.”

Turamarth swallowed at his father’s words, took several deep breaths and after a quick plea to the Valar, he jumped in. 

_Ai, gorgor! _The shock of the cold water almost made him gasp in a lungful of water. With a supreme effort, he calmed, but his heart pounded hard, bruising his ribcage.

_Do not think of the cold. Evvy! Think of Evvy!_

_Where is she?_

He managed to turn himself around and kicked his legs furiously, propelling himself further down. The light from the surface helped but the water cloudy with a reddish tinge. 

Blood.

But there would be time to think later. Tur reached out and felt along the huge chunk of ice using the jagged edges to help propel him down, down… _Ai, gorgor_, how big was this thing? It seemed to go on forever!

The pressure in his chest increased, as the seconds slipped by and he felt completely alone in the murky, scarlet depth. His eyes were useless now, and he could do little but grope as fast has possible, praying he caught something. 

The surface of the ice suddenly changed from sharp and slippery to soft and pliable. His fingers curled and he recognized the feel of fabric. A sleeve? A tunic? A dress?

There was no way to know for sure here; the only thing to do was to grab hold and bring the body to the surface, and pray it was his One. 

Turamarth gripped cloth tighter until it wrapped around his hand, and managed to pulled it free from the underside of the ice block before he kicked frantically toward the surface. His other hand grasped the rope numb finger and pulled, until there was an uncomfortable tug around his midsection.

His eyes turned upward toward the light, and he was nearing the surface—

Then stopped with a jerk, and he moved no further. The rope had wrapped itself around a jagged piece of ice, and he was stuck. He tried to kick his legs, to break free, but they were useless and heavy now, and he could do nothing but dangle helplessly under the ice.

His chest was about to burst. Turamarth was running out of air, and his body went slack as the blueish glow above turned grey, then black.

***************

_“Log raph! No lim! Log!”_ Ómar screamed, as he desperately tugged at the taught rope. _“Amarth faeg!_ The rope must be stuck on the ice below! Hurry!” He prayed to the Valar with all his might as Adamar helped him pull. 

Vildan came behind Adamar and added his own strength to their efforts, and the three of them gritted their teeth as they leaned back.

Ómar’s hands began to shake, but this was Elven rope; it would not break.

“_Daro!”_ he screamed, and let go. 

“It is useless; I must go in after him!” Ómar pulled off his tunic and boots, and said, “Keep pulling the rope; I will follow it down and loosen it.” And before his brother-in-law could stop him, he dove in, head-first.

_NAEG!_ It hurt, but all he could think about was his son. He flailed in clouded depths until his fingers grabbed the rope, and hand-over-hand, he went deeper, until he came to a jutted edge. The rope had somehow wrapped itself around this section and he quickly loosened it and kept going. There was barely any visibility, but it didn’t matter; he had a lifeline; a literal one and his son was at the end of it.

Would he get to him in time?

But bless Adamar and Vildan, once they sense the rope had been freed, they both went to work, and the bodies of his son and another Elf quickly rose to meet them. All he had to do was hang on.

Surface quickly approached, and not a moment too soon. Ómar gasped with a loud groan and filled his lungs, then helped bring the others to the surface. Once his hands and feet found rock, he scrambled out and brought Tur’s unconscious form and that of—

It was Saeros. And his head had been smashed in from the ice, and his eyes stared blankly to the ceiling. He was dead.

“Ai, _Belain_…” he groaned. Where was Evvy?

He panted hard from the chill as he crawled over to the still body of his son. Adamar had his ear to Tur’s chest, listening.

“His heart beats!” his Uncle cried. He opened Tur’s mouth and blew in some air, then began chest compressions. “Come on, _Gwadorion nîn;_ take a breath… Please…”

Suddenly Turamarth gagged and he coughed hard as a rush of water flew from his mouth.

“Vildan! Help me get him on his side!” Adamar ordered, as his nephew continued to vomit the water from his lungs, and started to tremble. “Quickly! Get him out of these wet clothes!” 

Ómar tried to help, but his fingers had stopped working, and he was shaking himself. Adamar glanced over in alarm. “D-do not w-worry about me,” he said, teeth chattering. “J-just help m-my son.”

“I will worry about anything I wish,” his brother-in-law snapped. “Vildan, get over to Ómar and wrap him in your cape.” 

The Vanguard was at Ómar’s side and had him stripped in less than a minute and surrounded by thick blue wool before he had the energy to protest. 

“Ev—” Tur croaked and turned toward the dead body. When he realized it was not his beloved, his mouth opened in a silent scream, and all hope was lost. 

Ómar put his arms around his son.

“I h-have f-failed her,” Turamarth rasped, eyes closed tight.

“All may not be lost,” Ómar stroked his face. “King Thranduil may find her.”

“But it is t-too late,” his son looked up at him with bleary eyes as his teeth chattered. “She has been in the w-water too long.”

Ómar held his beloved son tight, as hoarse sobs wracked Turamarth’s body.

Adamar looked up at ceiling. “We need to get them back into the tunnel. I do not trust the ice on the ceiling to hold for long.”

“What about him?” Vildan stepped over to Saeros’s broken body.

"We should bring him, as well.”

Just then Elrohir emerged from the back of the cave carrying the thermal blankets. “The children are fine; they never suffered from the cold.” He approached them and quickly wrapped Turamarth in it and offered one to Ómar, but he shook his head. “Save that for the King; he is still looking.”

Elrohir nodded his agreement, “then wrap the both of you together; you will warm faster.” He glanced over at Vildan, who was about to grab Saeros’s arm.

“NO!” he shouted. “Stop! Do not touch his hand!”

“What is wrong?” the Vanguard asked.

“I am not sure, but something does not feel right.” Elrohir “I think…”

He approached the body, paying no attention to the smashed skull. Elrohir squatted down and lowered his hands to an inch above the body, and moved them up and down, never touching. Then suddenly, to everyone’s horror, the son of Elrond pulled out his sword, and used it to move Saeros’s right arm, perpendicular to his body and quickly chopped off his hand.

“What are you doing?” Adamar cried. 

“Look!” Elrohir pointed to the severed appendage. “I believe this is the reason why Daeron saw a shadow on Saeros’s _Fëa_.”

Nothing happened for a second or two, but the flesh on the middle finger of the hand shimmered, and a plain black metal ring materialized. “If what I think is true, we must not touch it – not even with gloves.”

***************

**The Woodland Realm, 18th of July 979 T.A.**

Turamarth ran past Saeros as the finish line loomed ahead. “Hah! I beat you again!”

Saeros took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and forced his legs to move faster, but it was no use; he just couldn’t catch up to Tur, and by the time the race was finished, he only came in third from the last.

“You’ll never be as fast as me!” the mahogany-haired Elfling taunted, as he danced around him. “You in King Thranduil’s Army? What a laugh!”

“Stop it!” Saeros cried, his eyes stinging in hurt and shame. His face felt hot and he quickly wiped his eye. 

“What, are you crying, now?” Tur held his stomach and guffawed. “Only babies cry, you wimp. Stick to the libraries; and read your books! I’m going to have real adventures, while you sit on your rump and read about them!” he stuck out his tongue and jumped into the nearest tree.

“You’ll never get into the Guardians,” Saeros retorted hotly. “At least I can You can’t spell your Sindarin, and you can’t even read Westron, let alone speak it! Do you think the King will let you become a Guardian, just because your _Adar_ and Uncle are Captains?”

“Well, it’s better than having a Weaver for a father!” Turamarth sneered as he dropped back down on the ground, furious. 

“I will not! And don’t you say anything against my _Ada! _ At least he would never let me behave the way you do! Guardians are _supposed_ to be honorable; which means you’ll never ever be allowed in!”

Tur was on him before Saeros could speak another word and before he knew it, the other Elfling was on top of him, and he crossed his arms protectively, as Turamarth began to punch him.

“Tur!” another voice broke through their shouts. 

They both turned to see Daeron running up to them. “What are you doing?” he demanded of his cousin as he pulled him off Saeros. 

“He,” Tur pointed to Saeros, “called me a cheat, and said I’d only get in the Army because of _Ada_ and Uncle Adamar!”

“And he,” Saeros got to his feet and wiped his nose, “was making fun of me, because I didn’t win the race! And he thinks I should be ashamed of my father because he is not a soldier!” 

“Is this true?” Daeron loomed over Tur. “Did you do that?”

“Well, it is true! Saeros is slow, and clumsy and stupid—”

“You will not call another Elf names!” Daeron shouted over Tur. “

“Stop telling me what to do!” Tur wiggled free of his cousin’s grip and tried to pounce on him again, but grabbed Tur’s tunic and yanked him back, then grabbed his collar and dragged him back toward the Palace.

Saeros panted from the stress and the hurt, as more tears threatened to fall. Turamarth’s words had cut deep; all his life he dreamed of serving in the Army of the Woodland Realm. He drew pictures of the Guardians in their armor and pasted them to the walls of his room at home. He practiced his forms in swordsmanship for hours and when his parents bought him his very first bow and arrow, he threw his arms around their necks and hugged them tight with joy.

Though deep down he knew he wasn’t good enough, he couldn’t give up on his dream. _Ada_ and _Nana_ praised every paper he brought home from school, and told him he was the most wonderful, intelligent Elfling they had known. 

> _“There are more ways to serve your country than just being a soldier, Ion nîn,” _Ada would tell him, they sat on the couch and read stories together._ “You are the smartest Elf in your class! Perhaps you could be an Aide to the King, or be on the Council.”_
> 
> _“But I do not want that; I want to be a soldier, and protect you and Nana from the Spiders and Orcs! Then you can walk anywhere you want in the Forest because I will keep you safe.”_
> 
> _“We shall see,” _Seldion gathered him in his strong arms and kissed his head._ “But you know your mother and I will always love you and we will always be proud of you.”_

Saeros took off into the Forest. He ran and ran as the tears fell, and when he reached his favorite tree, he fell to the ground and leaned against its trunk. He wrapped his arms around his knees and lowered his head and began to cry, as the tree sent him comfort and understanding.

A kind voice intruded upon his misery. “Are you unwell, little Elf?” 

Startled, Saeros’s head jerked up, and he quickly wiped his eyes. “W-What?” he sniffled.

“I saw you crying; are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, and lowered his eyes in shame.

“You are obviously unhappy, little one.”

This _Ellon_ was unfamiliar. He was tall, with white hair, lighter than even the King’s. His eyes were light grey, and he wore long, shimmering robes of silver. He was beautiful, but there was something… _foreign_ about him. 

“I do not know you,” Saeros hiccuped. “Are you here visiting Lord Thranduil?”

“Oh, not really,” he said. “I would much rather visit with you. May I sit?”

Saeros shrugged. “Sure,” he said.

The Elf sat beside him and with a smile, but the giant Hickory tree silently shrieked in alarm. _Beware,_ it said. 

The Elfling jumped and turned to look at the Hickory with a scowl.

The Elf smiled serenely as he placed a hand against it’s trunk.

_Beware, beware, beware bew—_

Suddenly the tree fell completely silent.

Saeros turned to the Elf with wide eyes. “What did you do?”

“Your tree misunderstands me, and we do want the distraction, do we?”

“You didn’t hurt it, did you? He’s my friend!”

“I do not think he is a very good friend, if he would try to keep me away from you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are upset, and I only want to help you,” he said. 

“You cannot help me,” Saeros sighed. “You do not understand.”

“Perhaps if you talked about it, you might feel better.”

“But all visitors to the Woodland Realm must go see the King,” he raised his chin proudly. “Otherwise the Guardians will capture you.” Saeros pointed to the highest of trees. “They know everything that goes on here, and you would be in big trouble.”

“I would not worry,” Silver Hair said, and leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper. “They cannot see me.”

“I do not believe you.”

“If I am lying, would they not already be here, surrounding me with arrows?” he smiled and spread his hands. “Yet here I sit. Please do not be afraid, child. I only seek to help you.”

Saeros studied his face. “I want to know your name.”

“I have many names. But you may call me… _Istimor._

“I know what that means! ‘Wise One’ in Quenya!”

“You are a very intelligent young Elf,” Istimor tilted his head and gave Saeros a beautiful smile. “Are you parents proud of you?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “But that’s only because they love me.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you one of the Valar? Is that why no one can see you? Yavanna made the trees here; are you Oromë?”

“I do not wish to disappoint you, but I am not.”

“Then you must be one of the Maia,” Saeros picked at the hem of his tunic. “We have been studying them in my history class. Our teacher said there are many of them, and we only know about a few of them.”

“That is also true,” the Elf’s mouth curved upward. “What do you think?”

“I… do not know, really,” Saeros said honestly. “But you could be.”

Istimor laughed. “What if I am?”

“Well…” he thought. “Are you able to grant wishes?”

“It depends upon the wish, child,” he raised a white eyebrow. “You still have not told me why you sit here, alone and in tears.”

“What if…” he hesitated. “What if there was something you wanted more than anything in the world, but no matter how hard you try, you know you’ll never be good enough?”

“That would be extremely upsetting,” Istimor answered thoughtfully. “I am sorry for that. Would you like me to grant you whatever talents you think you are lacking?”

This offer made the Elfling sit up straighter. “You could really do that?”

“Again, it depends upon the wish. Tell me what upsets you, and I will see what I can do.”

Saeros stumbled over his words, at first, but soon they were pouring out of him; all the disappointment over his lack of physical precision and prowess, his poor grades in weaponry and archery, despite the hours of practice on his own, and worst of all, the way Turamarth jeered at and bullied him when he failed, again and again.

“I see,” the Elf’s mouth tightened. “That is unkind of this young Elfling. I do not blame you for your anger.”

“I hate him!”

“Yet you do not wish him dead?”

“N-no,” Saeros shook his head. “I do not think so; I just wish what he said did not bother me so much.”

“Ah,” Istimor nodded knowingly. “So, I begin to understand. It irks you that the careless words of others can hurt you?”

“Yes!” Tears filled Saeros’s eyes. “My _Naneth_ says I am very sensitive, but I hate it! I wish I didn’t care at all what other people thought!”

“Then that is what you shall have, young Saeros.” The Elf reached into one of his wide sleeves, and produced a small object. “Wear this, and no one will ever make you cry again.”

He placed the object into Saeros’s open palm. It was a thin silver ring, with no ornament or jewels, no engraving or design. Just a simple little ring.”

“Will it fit me?” he held it up to the light. “It looks big.”

“Why not try it on and see?”

He put it on the middle finger of his right hand, and to his surprise, it fit perfectly. “I can hardly feel it.”

“Then we know this ring was meant for you,” Istimor gave him a wide smile. “And now, my young friend, it is time for me to go.”

“But what should I tell my parents?” he asked, as they both stood. “They will want to know where I got this.”

“They will not, because only you can see it,” the older Elf said. “Think of it as your ‘secret weapon.’ With that, you will be protected from other’s anger or hate. From this moment on, nothing anyone can say will ever hurt you.”

_“Elo…” _the Elfling held out his hand to admire how it sparkled in the light. “Just from this?”

“Just from that.” Istimor patted his head and turned to go. “Farewell, my little friend.”

_“Le fael, Istimor!”_ he called to the retreating figure, who faded into the wind.

Saeros stared at the place where he had been for several minutes decided to go home, but needed to check something first. 

He stepped over to his beautiful tree and placed his hands upon it.

There was complete silence. Either his connection with the tree was severed, or it was dead.

He was halfway home before he realized he didn’t feel sad about it.

The next day, his mother answered the door to their rooms to admit Captain Ómar and his son, who was staring at the ground with a splotchy face and swollen eyes..

“Turamarth has something to say to your son, Heril. Might we speak to him?”

“Certainly,” she smiled. “Do you wish me to leave?”

“Not at all. My son should speak with you and your husband, as well. Is Seldion here?”

“I am afraid he went to Neldor and Solana’s village and will not be back for a week or so,” Heril explained. “They wrote of a problem with their silkworms and he went to help. Please,” she swept her arm out, “come in and sit. Can I give you any refreshments?”

“Thank you, but no. Now,” Ómar raised his brows to his son. “You will explain.”

“I am very sorry, My Lady,” Tur swallowed. “I was mean to Saeros after we raced in training yesterday, and I said some things I should not have. It was wrong of me to tease him like that.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” Heril’s brow furrowed. “You know much this means to him!”

“I do know, and…” Tur glanced at his father who glowered at him. “I had to see King Thranduil, and he told me there is no place in his Army for dishonorable, arrogant bullies. He is right, My Lady. I was arrogant and foolish. The truth is, Saeros gets perfect marks in school without even trying, and I…was jealous.” The Elfling’s lower lip trembled.

“Do you truly regret your actions?” Heril crossed her arms. “Or are you here because your father made you come?”

“Oh, no, My Lady!” Tur pleaded. “I was in the wrong and I am ashamed of the way I acted!” 

“I forgive you,” she said, but I am not the one you should be talking to. Saeros?” She turned to her son. “What do you have to say? Will you accept Turamarth’s apology?”

As Saeros met Tur’s gaze, he waited for the familiar waves of pain and embarrassment, and was pleased when they did not come. He lifted his hands and fumbled with the ring on his finger and gave them a small smile.

“You will never do it again?” he asked.

“No,” Turamarth stepped forward and held out his hand. “I would like us to be friends, but only if you want to.”

He reached out and clasped the Elfling’s wrist, warrior style, his silver ring digging into his fingers as he squeezed. “I will forgive you, but I am not sure we can be friends.”

“That is acceptable,” Heril kneeled beside him put her arm around him. “Sometimes it takes a while to get over our hurts, but this is a good beginning, and I am proud of you.”

“I am, too,” Captain Ómar said. “I am sorry you were hurt, _hênig_. And we promise it will not happen again.”

Saeros looked to his mother, who nudged him. “Thank you,” was the expected response, so he gave it.

And from that day on, he no longer cared what anyone said about him, and though he still tried with all his might to make it into the Army, when he failed the test, he didn’t wallow in disappointment.

As the years passed, there was very little that could stir him into any emotion with one exception.

Hate.

Saeros clung to it, nurtured it through the years, waiting for the day he would exact his revenge. When he discovered that Tur had gained a coveted place in the Woodland Realm Guardians by cheating on his Westron test, he confronted the Elf, and reported him to King Thranduil.

Surely this would finish him!

However, the Elvenking decided to let him remain in the program, Saeros was livid with fury. The small silver ring was hot to the touch, and somehow egged him on, as he searched for the Elf. When he found him out by the practice yard, he did not raise his hand to him; clearly Turamarth was the better fighter, but he did express his disdain by spitting on his boots and walking away.

It took him years for Saeros to realize that he was not just impervious to sorrow or sadness. When he looked to his mother and father, the deep love for them was also gone. 

That Elf had tricked him, and left his _Fëa_ an aching void.

Saeros did his best to behave as if nothing was out of the ordinary, to smile when was proper for him to smile, and even to laugh when it was appropriate. Once in a while his mother would look at him with concern, but he kissed her cheek and shrugged it off.

He took off his ring many times, and even managed to keep it off for several months at a time, but the need for it never left him. Each day was a trial and temptation which exhausted him.

A few times, he tried to throw it into the river, but his fist would not uncurl to let it drop. He thought perhaps he should tell his parents about the mysterious Elf in the Forest, but the words never came. Once, he went to King Thranduil’s study to confess, but when he raised his hand to knock, it froze in midair.

_No,_ he told himself. _It is safer to feel so little._

One day, his parents received heartbreaking news; the village where their friends, Noldor and Solana lived and worked had been attacked and razed to the ground. Two weeks after Tauriel, their tiny, red-haired daughter was brought to the Palace, King Thranduil called his _Adar_ and _Naneth_ to his study for a long meeting.

Upon their return, they had an announcement. “Your mother and I have decided to move to a new village several miles north of there,” Seldion told his son when they returned to their apartment. “Neldor and Solana’s silk farm was the largest in the Woodland Realm, and we must try to make up for that loss.”

“Of course, we want you to come with us,” Heril sat beside her son, and said carefully. “I think it would be best if you did, _Ion nîn_.”

So, he went, and for almost six centuries, he lived and worked, while the emptiness began to eat at him. He hated the ring, and he hated himself for loving it, and most of all, he hated Turamarth Ómarion. If it were not for him, he would never have gone to the Forest that day, or met that strange Elf that killed his favorite tree. He wouldn’t be burdened with this object that felt heavier by the year, and fought to control his every move.

Still Saeros waited for the day Tur would find something that meant more to him than his life. Maybe if he could exact his revenge he could finally be released from these chains.

When the tension built up inside, he sought out small animals and tortured them, finding pleasure in their pain and terror, as the life slowly seeped out of the creatures. It was a heady, intoxicating experience, and the more he did it, the more he craved the feeling.

One day, after burying another of the village cats, he returned home to find his parents waiting for him at the kitchen table with anxious expressions.

“Hello, _Adar, __Naneth,” _he made his voice sound casual. “Does something trouble you?”

Seldion indicated a chair, “Please, Ion; sit down. We need to speak.”

“All right,” he smiled as he folded his hands.

“Saeros,” Heril began, “Gereth’s dog went missing two days ago.”

“Did it? I had no idea.”

“I… think you do,” she said, her face pale with distress. “Levos the Cooper saw you with her, and you were…doing things,” she swallowed. “Terrible, unspeakable things, my son.” 1

“And you believed him?” he pretended to be shocked. “I am your son, yet you take his word over mine?”

“Your mother and I have noticed something different about you, though we tried for years ignore it. It was one of the reasons we accepted the move here; maybe if you were away from Turamarth—”

_“Do not say his name!”_ Saeros shouted, before he could stop himself. 

“But that is just it, dearest,” Heril tried to rest her hand on his, but he jerked away. “You were both children, and all children do foolish things. He tried repeatedly to make up with you, but you seemed to cling to this… feud between you. I had hoped things would resolve themselves after you reached your majority, but…” she shook her head tearfully. “Your father and I think you might be…ill, and we think it best to take you back to the Palace and ask Master Ermon to have a look at you.”

Saeros gritted his teeth and his toes curled inside of his boots, but he remained outwardly calm and in control. “What if he cannot help me?”

“Then we must let King Thranduil decide what to do,” Seldion’s voice betrayed his sadness. “You are our son, and we will always love you, I hope you know that. But Levos was not the only one to suspect you have been behind the disappearance of many of the village pets. He has reported his findings to the _Herdir_ of our village. You cannot remain here.”

“We will not leave you alone, Saeros,” Heril leaned toward him. “We will take you to the Palace, and get you as much help as you need. I have not seen true happiness in your eyes since you were a child, and I would give my life to see that again.”

_Naneth_ had no idea how true her words would be. The family left the village two days later, and on the second night of their trip, Saeros crept into their tent, and strangled them both. The last thing Heril saw before she was summoned to the Halls of Mandos was the smile on her son’s face, and the genuine pleasure in his eyes, as he squeezed the life out of her.

And the Elf – or whatever he was - who gave him his magic ring all those years ago? Saeros never met him again, though just after Queen Mírelen was murdered by the Orcs, he was almost sure he saw caught several quick glimpses in the forest of a tall figure with white hair wearing long robes of sea-blue.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Amarth faeg!_ – Evil Fate!

_Daro! _– Stop!

_Gwadorion nîn_ – My nephew

_Herdir - _Ruler of an Elvin Village in the Woodland Realm.

_Le fael, Istimor! _– Thank you, Istimor!

_Log raph! No lim! Log! _– Pull the rope! Hurry! Pull!

**NOTES:**

[1] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 32. Levos was a friend of Tauriel’s birth parents before they were killed: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/36684912>


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The terrifying scene in the cave continues. Evvy is trapped under the ice, as her loving family gather around the Mirror of Galadriel, helpless to do nothing but watch the tragedy unfold.
> 
> .
> 
> Grab your tissues.

_“Yes, I understand_

_That every life must end_

_As we sit alone_

_I know someday we must go_

_Stay with me_

_Let's just breathe…_

_Did I say that I need you?_

_Did I say that I want you?_

_Oh, if I didn’t, and I'm a fool you see_

_No one knows this more than me…”_

_ By** Pearl Jam** _

**Galadriel’s Garden, Lothlórien; 8th of December 2944 T.A.**

Everyone gathered around Galadriel’s Mirror were frozen with horror as the scene unfolded. Evranin Ohtariel was still trapped in the pool, under a block of ice the size of a small house.

“You must save my daughter!” Óhtar demanded hysterically, as Orlin tried to comfort him. “Please, My Lady; I am begging you!”

Galadriel met the Master Healer’s eyes, who looked upon her with concern. “I must try and save her; you know this.”

“I do,” Gilfanon said, sadly. “But you must be careful; do not waste the effort too soon.”

“I agree.”

They gazed upon the water and watched the scene unfold. Tur shed his armor and jumped into the water, but not before he was attached to the others on the surface by a lifeline.

On the other side of the pool, Thranduil was doing the same, before he dove in, and disappeared into the blacked depths. 

One minute passed. 

Then two. 

Then five.

Thranduil’s blonde head broke the surface of the water with a loud gasp. Then he inhaled deeply and disappeared again.

Ómar and Adamar were pulling on the Tur’s rope, but something was wrong. 

“The rope is stuck!” Óhtar ran his hands over his face. “Can you not do something?”

“I only have so much to give,” she said gently. And I must wait until we know for certain Evvy _can _be helped. There is nothing I can do while she remains under the water.”

Turamarth’s father jumped in after his son, and at last, they came to the surface again. Everyone held their breath, but as soon as they realized the figure in their grasp was not Evranin, but a broken and bleeding _Ellon_, the cry that came from Óhtar tore their hearts to pieces.

“No! No!”

“_Ada_,” Orlin’s voice wavered as he squeezed his father’s hand. “We must prepare ourselves.”

It was too much for the poor Archivist. He wrenched himself away from the plinth holding the shallow bowl, and collapsed on a nearby and doubled over with heart-wrenching sobs.

***************

**The Woodland Realm**

Down, down and down Thranduil swam. Carefully feeling along the rough chunk of ice, he found nothing. 

_Ai,_ he thought. _She must have sunk deeper…_

Air. He needed Air.

The Elvenking urgently swam upward and broke the surface with a cry, as he inhaled.

“_Ada!_ Did you find her?” Legolas and Amrol waited with worried faces. The dog whined anxiously. 

But there was no time to answer. After a few big gulps of air, he prayed for strength and dove back in. He kicked with all the strength he still had in his legs, away from the light, and into the darkness…

Again, nothing.

His hands moved quickly in the dim light as he moved farther away from the side of the pool, but it was no use. He didn’t want to stop looking in this spot, but his lungs were screaming. _Help me… _he prayed._ Mírelen, if you can hear me, please, please, please do not let me lose her!_

When his legs turned him upward of their own accord to the surface, he tried to fight it, but his body didn’t want to obey. The survival instinct had taken over, and it cared only for him, not for others who needed his help.

But as the dim light at the surface drew brighter, he saw it. A large bubble had miraculously appeared in front of him, and he quickly thrust his mouth into the air pocket that, by all logic _should not_ have been there, and took in everything it gave him. It was a blessed relief and it renewed his determination not to give up.

_Thank you,_ he closed his eyes for just a second to express gratitude to whomever, if anyone provided means for him to continue his search. This is the last chance, he knew. Ignoring the cold that seeped into his bones, he once again did a somersault and kicked downward with all his might.

A soft brush against his hand. Fabric. Thranduil flailed his hands to find the source of it, and found a foot. Attached to a leg, then a torso! He had her! Blessed be the Valar, he found her!

He wrapped one arm and both legs around her, grabbed the rope and tugged, and to his great relief felt it tightened around his waist as they moved. It was all he could do to keep hold of Evvy, and he managed it for most of the trip to the top, but the cold was overwhelming, and he could feel his grip on her body loosen.

Just as they were about to break the surface, his limbs lost all control, and he couldn’t hang on any longer. He made feeble attempts to keep her with him, but no matter how hard he tried, she slipped away and started to sink again.

His head breached the surface again, and was about to shout for help, when there was a splash to his right. _Maenwen_ barked as she jumped in, and paddled toward him. 

_“Evranin same maure alio,” _he huffed. _“Nás harna!”_

But before he finished talking, Maenwen had already disappeared, and came up with a mouth full of blue fabric. Thranduil dove a third time placed himself underneath her body and awkwardly pushed her to the surface. The dog quickly snapped her jaws to get a better grip in her clothing and together they headed for the edge of the pool.

Strong arms locked under his armpits and across his chest and hauled him out. Thranduil rolled over on his back with a loud groan and could only watch helplessly as the others kneeled down and grabbed at whatever they could get their hands on to yank Evvy’s body from the water. A loud whine echoed throughout the cave, and amidst the floating chunks of ice that had once covered the pool, Maenwen paws flailing helplessly with panic. The cold had begun to render her legs unusable and she went under.

_“Natho den!”_ he croaked, but Amrol had already seen, and took the other end of the rope and threw it to the large dog.

_“Mabnelci , Maenwen!”_ Amrol shouted. _“Linga! Nahta polda!”_

Calling upon every natural instinct of her breed, the big brown dog took the rope in her immense jaws and bit down with all her might, as Amrol leaned back and pulled. At last, the ice chunks moved aside to let her through,

With a grunt, Amrol pulled, hand-over-hand until Maenwen flopped on the slippery rock, panting. The Elf took her head and spoke in soothing tones, but she shoved him aside and slithered over to where Evranin’s body had been gently laid on the ground. 

Oh, no…

Evvy’s skin was pure white, with a tinge of grey, and her lips were dark blue. Her beautiful brown eyes were open, yet they saw nothing. She was so, so still. 

Thranduil wanted to cry out and tell the lovely young _Elleth_, how sorry he was that this happened to her, that he should have done more to prevent this. He should have been here to watch over her and all the rest of his people, if only he had known someone so evil was in their midst. But all he could do was lay there and weakly flail his arms like a fish out of water.

After licking her face with a sad whine, the great dog managed to stand on wobbly feet, moved a few yards away and shook the water off. After removing as much of the water from her fur as possible, she went to check on the Elvenking. When her deep brown eyes gazed into his grey-blue depths, he found the anguish of defeat. She licked his face and understood.

To his left, Legolas put his ear to her chest, then sat up straight with and shook his head. “I am sorry, _Ada. _Her heart has stopped. I am sorry.”

Evranin, daughter of Óhtar and Vériel was dead. The Elven Prince stood then gently picked up her body and retreated toward the tunnel. 

Across the pool, there was a flurry of activity. Out of the corner of his eye, Adamar and Ómar were hauling Turamarth to the back of the cave and into the tunnel, while Vildan prepared to move Saeros’s broken body and follow. Elrohir turned from the others and moved to stop him before he touched the Elf’s arm.

“NO!” he shouted. “Stop! Do not touch his hand!”

“What is wrong?” the Vanguard asked.

Elrohir stared down at the body for a moment. “I am not sure, but something does not feel right.” he said quietly. 

“Do you see something I cannot?” Vildan asked with concern.

“I do. I think…”

Thranduil’s lifted his head with wide eyes as Elrohir drew his sword, prodded Saeros’s arm to the side and chopped off his hand.

Vildan shouted in alarm, but all the Elvenking could see was their backs, as the leaned over the amputated limb.

“Wh…?” Thranduil opened his mouth to shout, but he had begun to tremble from the cold and could not catch his breath. 

Vildan looked up at met his eyes, then ran around the pool and kneeled beside him. “We must get these wet clothes off, immediately, My Lord…” The Vanguard made short work of his tunic and leggings leaving him only in his smalls and had him wrapped in the other warming blanket in less than a minute. 

He tried again to ask, and lifted his hand and pointed a shaking finger in Elrohir’s direction.

“He will explain, My Lord, but we all must get back into the tunnels; while you were searching, the ice on the ceiling has been making some noise and I fear it will collapse any moment now.”

Amrol grabbed the dog’s collar and ran into back as Vildan lifted his arm around his head and helped Thranduil to his feet, but not before grabbing at his wet clothes, to be dried later.

“Where… armor?” he gasped, while Legolas picked up Evvy’s body and Amrol pushed Maenwen to her feet.

“They have taken it and your cape to the back,” Vildan told him, just as another brittle groan filled the air. “We must go now, My Lord! Elrohir! Hurry!”

There was no question of taking Saeros’s body; the son of Elrond only had time to wrap the hand in his cape, and run. 

The three of them had just made it to the dark entrance to the tunnel when the ceiling, already weakened by the vibrations of their activity let out a deafening roar. _CRACK! _ The ground shook as layers upon layers of deadly icicles, many bigger than the Elves, crashed to the ground, filling the pool.

The Elves kept moving as chunks of ice and snow piled behind them, and rolled around their feet, as they hurried and soon caught up with Legolas.

“That was too close,” he stopped and turned, as he held Evranin’s body in his arms. Her head had fallen back, her golden blond hair fell in wet streaks and brushed against the ground as her unseeing eyes gaped ahead. The Prince’s eyes flew up and down as he assessed his father’s condition. “Are you injured, _Ada_?”

“N-No, _Ion nîn_; just cold. But I am w-warming.” His eyes fell upon Evvy’s arm that flopped unnaturally to the side. “Are you sure there are no signs of life?” he whispered softly.

“None. I do not know how we are going to tell Tur,” Legolas shook his head.

“Where are the others?” Elrohir asked, his cloth bundle held gingerly under his arm.

“Approximately a mile back, in the intersection between the tunnels. Daeron was setting up an area there and was going to send the others to find wood for a fire.”

“A fire?” Thranduil’s Elven eyes swept across the tunnel floor at their feet. “Where in the Stars would he find fuel?”

“We are hoping, since these are supposed to be caves to house our people in an emergency, there their might be some sort of provisions laid by for such a situation.” Legolas told him. “It is a small hope, but it will take hours to reach the Palace, and we obviously cannot get back through the cave…” he blew out a breath. “We need a place to rest and assess injuries, he said.”

“No; he is right,” Thranduil agreed, leaning heavily on Vildan for support. “I fear I am not up to a long journey just yet.”

“You are not up for even a short journey, until you are properly warmed, My Lord,” Elrohir affirmed. “Turamarth was nearly drowned, and took in a great deal of water into his lungs.”

“How is he?” Thranduil asked in alarm.

“I do not know; Daeron took him and the children back as soon as he could.”

“_Ai, gorgor_…” Thranduil closed his eyes in anguish as his knees buckled and grew limp. “He is in no shape to bear bad news.”

“Here, My Lord,” Vildan helped him to the side of the tunnel made him sit, leaning against the wall. 

“At any rate, you need to stop and rest a moment,” Elrohir set the parcel on the ground. “Do not touch that,” he ordered, and came over to the King. He lifted his eyelids, checked his lungs and heart and felt his hands and feet. “You were under the water for a long period of time, My Lord, and they could not seem to pull you in. We feared you had been trapped as well.”

“I had… help,” he admitted. “A miracle, I would go so far as to say. There was an air pocket in the ice, and I was fortunate enough to find it.”

“Those things are not uncommon in large bodies of ice, but for you to come across one at most need, was nothing short of a miracle.” Elrohir stepped back and looked him up and down. “It would explain why you are better than I expected, but you can go no further for now. Your heart was put under a strain with the cold, and I will not allow you to push it further, and we must return the blood to your extremities, or they will be permanently injured. Are you certain you did not lose consciousness at any time?”

He managed to shake his head.

“Take Evranin ahead and get her to Daeron,” Elrohir ordered Legolas. “We will come when the King is able to walk.”

After wrapping the silver-lined blanket tighter around Thranduil’s body to trap and keep his own body heat, Vildan and Elrohir rubbed his arms and legs vigorously through the fabric, forcing his blood to circulate properly. The Elvenking’s head fell back in exhaustion and his mind wandered…

> _Thranduil liked to fall asleep with Bard’s strong arms around his body and the warmth of his body along his back. He found great comfort in this protective, soothing embrace; after almost a millennium of loneliness, his body craved it. But sometimes Bard would fall asleep before he took his arm out from underneath him, and when he woke, found that his arm was numb. _
> 
> _“Oh, don’t worry, love,” Bard smiled, as he flexed his fingers and rubbed his arm._
> 
> _“I am sorry, Meleth nîn,” Thranduil would apologize. “We will not lie in that position anymore; I do not like to cause you any discomfort.”_
> 
> _“Not a chance,” Bard always smiled, and kissed him. “I need to hold my Elf, or I cannot settle.”_

But this was not the annoying sensation his Bowman would laugh at. These were sharp knives stabbing into his limbs and, as famously stoic as Thranduil was known to be, he couldn’t help but moan with the pain of it. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes tight, as thousands of hot needles did their work.

“I am sorry, _Mellon nîn_,” Elrohir murmured next to his ear. “This is the quickest way to help you. It is better to remain awake, but if you need to, I can put you to sleep—”

“N-No…” Thranduil’s teeth chattered, this time from agony, which did little to help his recently-injured jaw. “J-Just – _Ahhh!_ \- hurry, so I can get back to the others. Is T-Tur suffering the s-same?”

“I cannot say; but we will find out soon,” Elrohir said grimly, as he finished with his left leg and started in the right. “Feren and the others should arrive any moment now. Vildan, keep working on Lord Thranduil’s arms, please… That’s it, My Lord; flex your fingers as much as you can…”

Thranduil reached out and grabbed Elrohir’s arm, and forced his jaw to stop trembling. “When t-they get here, h-have the children taken b-back to their parents right away, and t-tell the others what h-happened.” he whispered. “Do n-not delay; Gildor and his wife are in torment.”

“Amrol can go,” Elrohir said, as he dug his thumbs painfully into the flesh of Thranduil’s calf. “I want my brother here, where there is a greater need.”

The Elvenking nodded, and let out another loud moan as his body returned to life again.

***************

Daeron knelt by his unconscious cousin, still wrapped in his father’s arms and checked his breathing. They had finished with the deep massage, and Tur had only woken during the worst of it, mercifully. He did not think there was any permanent damage, but he would make sure to keep him in the Healing Halls for several days to be sure. _Ada_ had thankfully found some wood and soon they had a fire going, warmed not only their bodies, but their hearts after such a horrific ordeal.

The children had woken up, thankfully unharmed, and it was deemed best to keep the full story from them. 

“We are having a special adventure,” He told them gently, “and soon, we will be taking you back to you _Adar_ and _Naneth_.” He held out the vial of potion Ivárë had given them at the Healing Hall. “This is special medicine that will help you stay well, and I only need you to take a sip.”

“Eww!” Rowena shuddered. Dylan’s reaction was the same, but he managed to get it down. They were both grateful for the water in the skins, and Daeron even allowed them a small sip of wine, which would help calm their nerves.

“Would you like to come sit by the fire with us?” Adamar asked with a smile, and once they were settled, Ómar brought his son over and laid him down on the pallet they had previously occupied, before he turned away and discreetly donned the extra clothes Lady Emëldir had packed for them. 

A loud crash reverberated throughout the caverns and everyone looked up in alarm and Daeron was on his feet instantly. 

“I must go,” he said. _“Ada—”_

“Take that potion with you; they’ll need it. I’ll keep watch over your Uncle and Tur.”

Grabbing the end of a stick from the fire, he hurried along the tunnel until he saw figures up ahead, but could not make them out in the darkness.”

“Lord Thranduil?”

“He is with Elrohir and Vildan,” Legolas shouted. “Amrol and I are bringing the dog and… Evranin.”

“You found her?” Daeron ran up to them.

“We did,” Legolas answered with great sadness. 

“And she…”

“She is gone.”

“_Amarth faeg!”_ the Guardian let out a strangled cry, as he put his hand on Evvy’s brow, then quickly put his ear to her ice-cold chest, listened for a moment, then slowly straightened. “I was afraid of this…”

“How is your cousin?” Amrol asked. And the children?”

“Uncle Ómar and my father are with them.” Daeron thoughtfully stroked Evvy’s brow with a sorrowful expression, and adjusted her so she appeared a bit more comfortable in his arms. “Tur is in deep shock and this news will… _Ai, gorgor_…” he mumbled as he picked up her limp hand and set in over her stomach. Then Daeron stopped and blinked a few times.

“Legolas? How long was she out of the water?”

“She was under almost twenty minutes,” Legolas told him. “We are too late.”

“No,” Daeron’s voice grew sharp. “I asked you how long she has been _out. Tell me quickly!_”

“Just a few minutes. But it is too— Daeron? What are you doing?”

“_Ae!” _The Elven Healer whipped off his cape and lay it on the ground. “Put her down right here, now! Amrol, fold up your cape and put it under her head! Do it!” As soon as Evvy was laid down, he placed his hands over her chest and pushed rapidly, just as Ómar did with Turamarth.

“But she is dead, Daeron!”

“Be quiet!”

The Elf straddled Evvy and pushed every half-second for what seemed ages. Amrol insisted on taking over, and after careful instruction, he took Daeron’s place.

“Are you mad?” Legolas asked, then stopped. “I understand that she is special to you, but this is only delaying the inevitable.”

“We must keep trying,” Daeron told him. “When I worked in Old Dale, there was a small child that had wandered onto the ice and fell in. It was two hours until we found him.”

_“Two hours?”_ Amrol’s eyes bulged. “But surely they could not—”

“They did, or rather, _I did,_ with their help, after over an hour of chest thrusts, his heart began to beat again,” he said. “When a body quickly freezes it will shut down, and that can preserve a chance at life, if… It was a small human child which is why he lived. An adult would not survive, but children’s bodies are different…”

“And you think an Elf might have a better chance?” 

Daeron’s expression was distressed, yet hopeful. “I do not know, to be honest. Elves normally are excellent swimmers, so this situation has not really presented itself, has it? But I was amazed at the way a human body can revive itself, and I cannot give up, for Evvy’s sake.” 

“Then it is well we are doing this outside of Tur’s reach and hearing,” Thranduil, who had come up behind them said. “What do you need?”

“_Ada!” _Legolas went to help his father. “Are you all right?” 

“I am, _Ion nîn_,” Thranduil looked miserable under his blanket but there was more color in his face. 

“Here, My Lord,” Daeron handed him the bottle of medicine. “Take a big swig of this.”

The King’s did as he was told with a shudder. “This is terrible.”

“Then complain to Mistress Ivárë,” the Prince told him. “This is her concoction.”

“Get the King to the fire right away,” Elrohir told Legolas, as he surveyed the scene, “what is this?”

Daeron quickly repeated his story, as Vildan replaced Amrol in their ministrations to Evvy’s body. Elrohir’s eyes widened in wonder.

“Your father has never seen this?” Daeron asked him.

“Not this,” the son of Elrond shook his head doubtfully. “But while that child resumed a normal life, I must ask you frankly: how do you know that will happen with an Elf?”

“I… do not,” he admitted, “but—"

“Daeron, do you understand what could happen? Is it truly a kindness to bring Evvy’s body back to life only to live impaired, or worse, a vegetable?”

“You do not know she will,” Daeron swallowed.

“You do not know she will _not,_ and I doubt her father and brother would thank you. I have known Evranin for many centuries and she would not want this for herself. Better to let her go, and find what peace she can in Mandos’ Halls then live in bliss in Valinor.”

“But she is an Elf!” Daeron insisted.

“Exactly my point!” Elrohir hissed. “She is not human, Daeron; there will be no release from this, unless she is taken to the Havens. You could be damning her to _centuries_ of being trapped in a body that no longer works, while her _Fëa_ cries out to be free! Please, _Mellon nîn_, I must ask you to think of the consequences!”

Amrol and Vildan looked up at the two of them, and listened with great concern, yet Vildan did not stop.

Daeron’s voice wavered and grew husky. “Tur loves her, Elrohir; she is his One, and _I must try._ Perhaps I am being selfish, but…” he set his jaw, “every instinct in me says we can save her!”

Elrohir’s grey eyes met his with great sadness and not a little pity, but eventually, he gave a curt nod. “I still do not agree, _Mellon_, but if I am wrong, I will rejoice by your side.” He clasped Daeron’s shoulder and gave him a grim, but encouraging smile. “I will pray.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not thank me, yet.” Elrohir called over his shoulder. “I do not agree with this, Guardian, and I doubt you will succeed. Still, I wish you well.”

***************

**Lothlórien**

With every push in his sister’s chest, Orlin winced, and prayed, but after a few minutes, he couldn’t stand it anymore and was convinced Daeron was being foolhardy and wanted nothing more than for this Elf, however well-intentioned, to stop.

His vision swam and he could look no more. “He is beating my sister’s body to a pulp, My Lady,” he whispered so his father couldn’t hear. “Can you do nothing?”

Galadriel touched the Mirror with her forefinger, but the water didn’t ripple or react at all to the touch. “I have done all that I could, Orlin,” she answered sadly. “Some things are out of my hands, and we can only pray for the Valar to be merciful.”

“You do not know what will happen?”

“Their fate is sealed, I am afraid. To whatever end they are approaching, I have no way to interfere.”

“But why?”

“Perhaps it is because there truly is no more to be done,” she said gently, as she placed her hand on his forearm and offered a comforting squeeze. “Not all the visions in the Mirror are revealed so that I might intervene. Still, there are other forces for good in this world; just because I no longer have any power here, does not mean others may not want to help.”

“What should I do? What should I tell my poor father, as we ride to the Woodland Realm? I cannot give him hope where there might be none! It would be cruel!”

“We must, as the world of Men likes to say, ‘Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.’ If nothing else, Lord Thranduil will treat Evranin’s body with the utmost respect and care, as I am sure he understands that you will want to bring her home for her burial.”

Orlin took a deep breath and gave his Lady a small nod. “My father needs my strength right now, so I must focus on what I can do.”

“And no one can ask more of you,” the Lady of Light approved. “I will help.”

He covered her hand on his arm and lifted it to his lips. “I appreciate it.”

Galadriel bowed her head, then lifted the shallow bowl and poured it over one of the flower beds, before replacing in on the plinth. 

There was no more to see.

***************

_“Ada?”_ Orlin stepped away from the Mirror and took his father’s hand. Óhtar was leaning against Master Gilfanon, lost in his grief.

“I never should have sent her,” he said. “This is all my fault. I only wanted her to have some sort of life of her own; who could have guessed Lord Thranduil could allow such evil into his—”

“I caution you to consider your words, Archivist,” Galadriel put her finger under his chin and lifted his face to meet her eyes. “I might remind you that we have recently experienced a similar evil, and four Elves lost their lives. Would you say that I or my husband purposely allowed Istari Pallando to enter the Golden Wood?”

After many minutes, the anger left his eyes and once again he slumped into Gilfanon. “No,” he said. “I would not. Forgive me.”

“You are deeply grieved, and the pain in your heart cries out to find logic in all this. Would that I could give you that and relieve your suffering, but I have none to offer. Please go with your son and prepare for your journey, My Lord.”

With a weak nod, he allowed Gilfanon and Orlin to help him stand, and supported him as they led Óhtar away.

Celeborn put his arm around her shoulders. “I am sorry, _Meleth nîn_,” he kissed her temple. “I truly am. Evranin is special to you.”

“She is, and I cannot help but feel that I could have prevented all of this by paying better attention to her while she struggled under her mother’s tyranny.” She turned and buried her face in her husband’s shoulder. “That poor child… I could have given her the love she longed for from a mother,” Galadriel murmured. “I miss my own daughter so much… it would have eased my grief to give my attention to one who needed to so badly.”

“Shh…” Celeborn held her tight and stroked her golden waves. “This is not your fault.”

“But it is, _Hervenn nîn!” _she lifted her face and looked at him through her tears. “Perhaps that is why I can do nothing now; maybe the Valar are so displeased by my negligence they have taken her from me?”

“I will not insult you by saying Evranin could have, and should have, been happier here. But think about what you just told Orlin; just because you have no power in this, does not mean the Valar might not send other help.” He arched his eyebrow and smiled. “Unless of course, by Noldor Princess imagines she is the architect of all things? Not even Mithrandir is capable of such things, so what makes you think all this is your responsibility to put all that is wrong to rights?”

“Maybe because I wish it was,” she sighed. “Especially in this case. But I fear Evranin is truly lost to us.”

“Then we must have faith that a beautiful place has been made ready in the Halls of Waiting, and that a heart as sweet as hers will not linger there. We will see her again, _Meleth nîn_; one way or another.”

***************

After an hour, Daeron was beginning to wonder of the son of Elrond was not wrong. The three of them took turns, and kept up, and stopping every once in a while, to check. Still pulse.

“We have broken her ribs, I think,” Vildan wiped his brow.

“They will heal,” Daeron said stubbornly, “that is easily remedied.”

“If she lives. How long should we do this?” the Vanguard asked.

_“As long as it takes!” _Daeron barked. “This will work!” he ordered Amrol to stop and he rested his head on her chest. “Again!”

Voices were heard ahead of them and a dog barked. Feren and the others had finally come. They listened gratefully as the King commanded that they children be taken to their parents immediately, along with the brave Maenwen, to be checked over by her handlers.

There was some discussion over Turamarth’s condition and Daeron longed for news about his Uncle and _Gwador_, but he couldn’t leave them. Not if Evvy had even a ghost of a chance.

He had rested his hand along the _Elleth_’s jugular while he watched the scene in the distance, and almost didn’t feel the oh-so-slight flutter under his fingertips. The second time, Daeron jerked his head back with a strangled cry.

“Stop for a moment!” he yelled, pushed Vildan roughly away. “Quiet!”

Daeron closed his eyes and prayed with all his might as his ear made contact with the cold flesh. _Please… Please… _

And there was movement. A soft _thump-thump, thump thump._

It was slow, it was weak, but it was there.

“It worked!” he gasped. “Her heart…” words failed him at that point, and he urgently motioned for Vildan to keep going, which he did, with a grin on his face.

Daeron sat back and burst into tears. _“De fael,_ _Elbereth_ _Gilthoniel_,_” _ he sobbed. _“De fael, de fael, de fael…”_

“What happens now?” Amrol said, as he made ready to take over.

The answer was a rush of water that burst from Evranin’s lungs. They quickly turned her on her side, and Daeron rested his hands along her back and sang to force what liquid he could from her lungs.

“Keep your hand over her heart, and do not let it stop!” he ordered. “Concentrate, Vildan! Tell it to beat!”

Once he was sure she had gotten as much of the water possible out of her, they rolled her back over and he placed his own hands on her chest.

“Pick up the blanket underneath her so we can carry her to the fire,” the Guardian instructed, and together they stood with her in the makeshift hammock and marched, careful not to jostle her.

_Beat, beat, beat,_ Daeron sang to her heart, in time with their feet, and pictured the blood, sluggish at first, begin to move through the chambers and up to her brain. His song increased his volume as he helped her lungs take in air. _In, out, beat, beat, beat… In, out, beat, beat, beat…_ Again, and again and again.

Evranin, daughter of Óhtar and Vériel lived, and while part of him rejoiced, he could not forget Elrohir’s words of caution.

Had he done her more harm than good?

What if, in his arrogance he had saved her, only to be forced to endure a living death?

_In, out, beat, beat, beat…_

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_De fael, de fael, de fael… _\- Thank you, thank you, thank you…

_De fael,_ _Elbereth_ _Gilthoniel _– Thank you, Queen of the Stars

_Eglerio i Belain_ – Praise the Valar (lit. “Glorify the Valar”)

_Evranin same maure alio; nás harna _ \- (Q.) Evranin needs rescuing; she is hurt

_Hantan len, Maenwen _– (Q.) Thank you, Maenwen.

_Linga! Nahta polda!_– (Q.) Grab it! Bite it hard!

_Mabnelci , Maenwen!_– (Q.) Hold on to this, Maenwen!

_Rehta hilya! _– (Q.) Help her!

**NOTES:**

The story of the little boy who fell in the ice and was trapped for two hours is actually based in real life: <https://www.iflscience.com/health-and-medicine/child-survived-almost-2-hours-cpr-after-falling-icy-stream-how/>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do we know about this mystery Elf that gave Saeros that little magic ring?
> 
> -Is he really an Elf, or his he something else in disguise?
> 
> -and if he is someone else in disguise, where did he come from?
> 
> -how long ago did that little encounter take place?
> 
> -and who was it that Saeros saw in the woods just after the Queen's death?
> 
> Hint, hint...


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feren finally catches up with the group in the tunnels, and reflects upon his own family, as they take the children back to their frantic parents. Then he quickly gathers another rescue party, led by an Elven Healer who could give Lady Hilda a run for her money!
> 
> Speaking of Hilda, she and Bard arrive at the Palace, and the Bowman races to the Healing Halls to see his Elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience (cough, cough, sniffle...). I am thanking the Valar I had a flu shot a few months ago, but unfortunately, it doesn't make one impervious to colds.
> 
> It took a bit, but I've got the next chapter up for you, and I made up for the delay with lots of pictures!
> 
> I missed you guys!

_“Mama, take this badge off of me_

_I can't use it anymore_

_It's gettin' dark, too dark to see_

_I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door_

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door_

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door_

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door_

_Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door…”_

_ By** Bob Dylan** _

**The Woodland Realm, 8th December 2944 T.A.**

Once Feren had a clear assessment of the situation in the tunnels, he followed King Thranduil’s orders to return the children to their frantic parents.

“Elladan needs to stay,” Thranduil said, weakly. “Take Amrol and Rahlen and get those children home. Stay with them, but send someone to the Healing House to prepare for our arrival, and make sure to tell them of Evranin’s condition.”

Amrol went ahead with Maenwen, Rahlen held Dylan’s hand as they walked, and Feren carried Rowena and spoke softly to soothe her.

“We are taking you back to your _Adar_ and _Naneth_, and soon you will be in their arms.”

“But that Elf said _Nana_ wanted us to go with him,” Rowena sniffed. “My brother tried to fight him off, and…”

“Shhh…” he stroked her hair. “You and your brother were very brave, and we are all proud of you.”

“Was he a bad Elf?”

“I am afraid so, sweetling. But all you need to think about is your _Ada_ and _Nana_, and how happy they will be to see you.”

“Is he dead?”

Feren paused. “I promise he will never bother you or anyone else again. You are safe now.”

“Okay. I slept a lot, but I didn’t mean to.”

“That is good. You do not remember much except the tunnels, yes?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then that is a blessing, child.”

Rowena said nothing more, but pulled the blanket tighter and rested her head on his shoulder, as they quickly made their way back. _Ai!_ That this child should be made into a pawn for such a sick game… Feren’s heart skipped a beat as he thought of his own beautiful daughters, and the son they are expecting next year. He would easily trade his life for theirs to keep them safe, and the image of little Dafina, her eyes filled with terror made him ill. 

He quickly took a couple of deep breaths, but he couldn’t really calm down. Since the day he met his two daughters in the Children’s Tent among the ruins of Dale, his heart, his _Fëa_ changed, and although some would say it made him more sensitive, thus weak, he would argue the opposite. 

From the day he realized how much he loved Alis and Dafina, he was driven to do his job better, faster and more effectively because he had to make sure his daughters would be safe from every evil under the sun. He wanted to move mountains, rearrange the stars if it could be managed to keep the innocence and trust in their beautiful blue eyes, and to make sure those smiles, that could melt his heart, never left their faces. 1

When he and Glélindë first became parents, Hilda worked with them to understand the complexities of raising human children, but while the physical needs were different, she assured than that the love was not

> _“Being a parent means wearing your heart outside of your body,” _the Lady wrote._ “You are about to understand what real worry is like, but you’ll discover love in ways you never imagined, and I’m happy for you.”_

It was true. 

When he first arrived at the Palace, he didn’t dare go see Gildor and Nielthi, lest he be too shattered to do what he must. He didn’t let himself think of their agony; he focused on saving them. 

“Commander?” Rahlen broke into his thoughts. “I believe Dylan is worn out from his ordeal.” 

“Are you well?” Feren asked the boy. 

“I want to go home,” Dylan’s quickly wiped a tear he didn’t want them to see.

“Of course, you do, child.” Rahlen put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “If you would allow me to carry you, we could hasten our journey to the Palace.”

“We could really go faster?” the boy bit his lip. “I hate it here.”

“Then jump on my back and hang on,” Rahlen stooped so Dylan could crawl on and held his hands in front of his neck. “Here we go!”

“Amrol!” Feren called to the Lieutenant who was holding the dog’s leash tight. “How is Maenwen?”

“She is dry, Commander. The exercise is helping her.”

“Then she will do better off leash, I think. Let her loose and let us all see if we can keep up!”

“Are we going to have a race?” Rowena asked.

“Would you like to?” Feren asked her. “Do you think we could beat your brother and Rahlen?”

“Umm…” she considered, and for the first time since this whole thing happened, the little girl smiled and nodded her head. “Aye! Race you, Dyl!”

_This was good,_ Feren thought as he ran. _The children need to laugh._

He did, too.

At last, they reached the original entrance, which appeared to be a dead end.

“Are we stuck?” Rowena’s voice quavered.

“Not at all, child. There is a secret door, do you remember?”

“I do!” Dylan said. “That Elf – Saeros – said some weird words and then a hole just appeared!”

“If you can remember any of those words, it would help us a great deal,” Feren said, as he pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here is the spell I was given.”

He handed Rowena over to Amrol, and put his hand on the rock. After reciting the spell, a bright light appeared which hurt their eyes at first and the children had to cover them. It was the snow on the ground outside, made brighter by the late-afternoon sun.

“We did it!” Rowena jumped up and down, then looked around. “Where’s _Nana_ and _Ada_?”

“They will meet us at the Healing Hall, where Mistress Ivárë is eagerly awaiting to check you both over to make sure you are well,” Feren grinned, as he picked the girl up again. “Shall we go?”

The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Thank you for saving us.”

Feren swallowed and once again the image of Alis and Dafina came to mind. “You are most welcome, _hênig_.”

Their party rushed to the back gates, entered the Palace and raced to the Healing Hall. Amroth, as ordered, went straight to Gildor’s apartment to give the parents the good news and escort them to their children.

But his journey was needless, because when they turned the corner and approached the infirmary, Gildor and Nielthi, who were standing with Emëldir, caught sight of them.

“Dylan! Rowena!” they cried as the ran down the hall with opened arms.

“_Nana! Ada!” _Rowena screamed and jumped from Feren’s arms to her mother, who grasped the back of her daughter’s head and covered her face with kisses and tears. 

“_Mîr nîn_,” Nielthi sobbed. “_Vuin_ _nîn_.” 

“Are you hurt?” Gildor kneeled and gathered his son into his arms. 

“No, _Ada_, ” Dylan smiled at first, but then burst into tears, “but I was so scared. I was so scared…I tried to be brave for Rowena. I wouldn’t let him hurt her.”

Gildor buried his face in Dylan’s shoulder and said, over and over, “_De athae_, _Elbereth_ _Gilthoniel_… _Belain hanni; Belain hanni…” _

“Let us get you all inside so the Healers can have a look at you,” Emëldir gently guided the family into the Healing Hall. 

“Of course,” Gildor wiped his eyes, and picked up the crying child and they all went in. 

Ivárë ran up to them. “In there,” she pointed to the first treatment room on the right then stopped Feren. “Are they bleeding anywhere?”

“Not that I know of,” Feren told her, as Emëldir joined them. “They were put under a sleeping spell for most of the ordeal, which is merciful, and only remember their capture and the tunnels.”

“He did take them to the cave?” she asked grimly, then turned to some assistants and directed them to examine the children.

“He did. There was a terrible accident,” his mouth formed an angry line, “and you need to be ready. Evranin was trapped under the water and Turamarth nearly died trying to rescue her. Ómar went in after him, but it was Lord Thranduil himself who managed to get her out. I am told Tur had to be revived, and as soon as Elrohir and Elladan can get them warmed enough, they will come through the tunnels.”

“Will they be coming through the frozen falls? I can have things ready at the Main Doors.” Emëldir asked. 

“No, My Lady. The ice on the ceiling collapsed and that way is shut. They managed to all get out in time, but Saeros’s body was buried.”

“Saeros?” Emëldir asked.

“He is dead. And Evranin…”

“What about Evvy?” the Healer asked. 

Feren swallowed. “Evranin was nearly frozen when they managed to get under the ice and pull her out. Daeron has insisted they try to restart her heart. They were still working on her when we left.”

“After how long?”

“She was under the water for over twenty minutes, and they had been giving her chest compressions for an hour when I arrived.”

He expected the same disapproving attitude as Elrohir, but the Mistress Healer said nothing. “They could be stuck in there for hours. Feren, if you can show us where this entrance is and help us get there, we can bring them what they might need, and help them get out.”

“They will also need dry clothing, and boots. Even those who did not go in the water became wet at some point.”

“I can take care of that.” Emëldir said. “I can meet you back here in fifteen minutes.”

***************

The party gathered at the back the Palace and once again, Feren read the spell. They were ready this time with plenty of torches to light their way, and they carried a stack cots which were piled with blankets, and supplies.

When the met up with the King and the rescue party, there was no more fuel for the fire, and Daeron and Elrohir were kneeling beside Evranin hands over her heart in deep concentration. Beside her on the pallet lay Turamarth. His face was very pale as Ómar held his hand and prayed.

“Valar be praised!” Elladan waved. “We were trying to decide how to get everyone back. Lord Thranduil should not walk; we have warmed him, but his hands and feet have little feeling.”

“I am fine,” the Elvenking croaked, then coughed.

“You are not fine, My Lord, but you will be,” Ivárë quickly took charge. “Get those litters ready!” she commanded, and they were quickly laid down and unloaded. 

She knelt before the Elvenking and checked his eyes and his hands and feet. “Did you take some of that potion?”

“Yes,” he told her. 

“Take some more. Help the King remove the rest of his clothing and put these on,” she handed him some clothes and boots.

“But I have—”

“These are dryer,” she interrupted, then looked up to Elladan. “Get him into these, and get him on that cot. He is to be carried back.”

“I will not—”

“Yes, you will,” she ordered, “or I will put you to sleep; I do not have time to argue.”

Without waiting for a reply, the Healer went to see Tur, and carefully listened to his heart and lungs. “They sound rough, but his heart is not too bad.” Her eyes met Ómar’s. “Tell me exactly what happened to him.”

“He was trapped. The rope we had on him caught on a jagged edge and I had to go get him.”

“And he was not breathing when you surfaced?”

“He was not,” Adamar answered. “I had to push what I could out of his lungs, and he vomited the rest.”

“What did the water look like? Was it clear?”

“No,” the Captain said. “It was tinged with blood and cloudy.”

“_Ai, gorgor_…” she shook her head. “That is a complication. The sooner we get him back the sooner I can properly treat him.” She lifted his blanket and saw he was naked. “Better than wet clothing.” She signaled for Rahlen to bring another litter and set it down beside them. “Put him on this and wrap him in several blankets up to his chin.” 

They carefully moved him over and did so, as Ivárë carefully studied Ómar. “You were under too. Are you well? Do not lie; it is better to know now, than to have you fall later and slow us down.”

“I—”

“He will be carried too,” Adamar said firmly. “He shivers when he thinks no one is looking.”

“Are your clothes dry?”

“Yes, but not my boots.”

“Get them off and get on this cot. Now.”

When the Elven Captain opened his mouth to protest, Ivárë grabbed his nose, held a small bottle to his lips and made him drink.

“Blech!” he shuddered. “This is worse than the other stuff.”

“That means it will work,” she said mildly, as she turned to Adamar and handed him the bottle. “Give this to Tur a few drops at a time, while we get ready. Just open his mouth and put it in; even if he does not swallow it, his body will absorb it. If you can get it under his tongue it would be better, but getting back quickly is more of a priority.”

“It is a blessing he is not awake to taste it,” Ómar griped.

Adamar jerked his head toward his brother-in-law. “I suppose grumpiness is a good sign?”

“It is,” she came to Prince Legolas and saw his leggings were still wet. “Off,” she pointed. “Even your under garments. There are dry clothes over there. What about your feet?”

“They are fine, I think,” Legolas looked down.

“We’ll know when you take them off. Now hurry! We need to get going, unless, of course, you _wish_ your _Adar_ to remain here?” She scolded.

The Prince scrambled over to Amrol and quickly changed.

“I see you have been taking lessons from Lady Hilda,” Thranduil smirked, just as he started coughing.

“If you mean she does not suffer fools and has no time for nonsense, then I accept the compliment.” She listened to the King’s lungs again. “They are clear, but your throat has been irritated and this cold air is not good for it, My Lord. We must go in a few moments.”

Finally, the Mistress Healer, a former protégé of Chief Ermon, came to where Daeron and Elrohir hovered over the body of Evranin. Airen and her husband Elion were close by with worried looks, as they laid down the fourth litter and several blankets.

”Will she be all right?” Airen’s eyes were wet.

“Let me see.” Ivárë squatted down and, without interrupted her colleague’s ministrations, laid her hand over Daeron’s and closed her eyes. 

Her heart was weak, but it was working with Daeron’s help, and he was helping her lungs take in air. The _Elleth_’s ribs were badly bruised from the resuscitation efforts , but there were only two fractures. Praise the Valar Elven bones were more pliable than those of Men. If Evranin had been a Woman, her entire ribcage would look like a spiderweb. Still, when they returned, she would sing the bruises down, to lesson her discomfort.

Daeron did not stop his song, but raised his head to meet her eyes. Nothing was said between them, but she gave him a reassuring nod, and checked if the _Elleth_ had any wet clothing that needed to be removed. 

“The pallet is too awkward to carry easily,” she said, “so we will take her on the litter. But since this surface seems to be warm, I will undress her here, first.

As discreetly as possible, she and Airen managed to take off Evvy’s remaining clothing and place two warming blankets against her bare skin. She went around and crouched near Evvy’s head and checked for any fever. Ivárë closed her eyes and placed her hands on Evranin’s head, and saw…

…nothing. Her mind and _fëa_ was completely quiet.

She quickly looked up to meet Elrohir’s gaze and he shook his head sadly, and a sob escaped Airen and she turned into Elion’s shoulder. Daeron noticed the commotion, but set his jaw in determination.

There was tension between the Guardian and the son of Elrond, and Ivárë needed to put a stop to it. “She is ready to go; Elion, Airen, get her on the litter. Elladan,” she stood and waved the twin over. “Take your brother’s place.”

“Mistress I assure you,” Elrohir scrambled to his feet to stand in front of her. “My personal feelings do not affect—“

But she interrupted with a wave of her hand and pointed to the cloth bundle near the pallet. “I am told you have Saeros’s hand bearing a mysterious ring?”

“Yes.”

“Could that thing endanger those who are weak and injured?”

The Son of Elrond closed his eyes in consternation. _“Amarth faeg! _I should have thought of it, but so much happened all at once…”

“I could be wrong,” she assured him, “but we will take no chances, yes?”

“Ivárë, what do you speak of?” Thranduil said from his cot.

“We know nothing about this object, My Lord, and I fear it might not be enough not to touch it. Tur, and especially Evvy, are vulnerable, and we should take measures.”

“Excellent thinking.” Thranduil’s voice still sounded rough. “Elrohir, follow behind us at a safe distance, but when we arrive, arrange for that to be placed in mithril-lined box, hand and all; do not bother to unwrap it. Then place a spell on it to be opened only by myself or Mithrandir.”

“It will be done, My Lord.”

***************

**The Palace of the Woodland Realm**

** **

“Are you all right, Hilda?” Bard called over to his friend as the doors to the Woodland Realm appeared up ahead.

“I’m fine, Bard!” she answered briskly, from the back of Tauriel’s horse. “I’m a lot stronger than I look – my lands, this horse is smooth as glass!”

_Lasbelin_ tossed his head at the compliment, and neighed loudly.

“He’s anxious to get to _Mistanâr,”_ Bard observed, then patted _Fînlossen’s_ neck. “Easy boy; we’ll get you back to Vórima and her little one as soon as we can.” [2]

The King of Dale and his Seneschal crossed the bridge and through the Main Doors followed by their escort, and the Elves immediately stepped forward to help Lady Hilda from the saddle and see to the horses. 

“I will take care of our horses, My Lady,” Cwën tried to take the reins, but Hilda stopped her.

“No, love; someone else will take care of that.” Hilda put her arm around the _Elleth._ “You come with me and we’ll go see about your friend Evvy, yeah?”

The Guardian managed a weak smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Lady Emëldir did not bother with greetings as she ran up to them. “Everyone is at the Healing Hall, My Lord.”

“The children?” Hilda asked as she pulled off her riding gloves. “Are they all right?”

“They are, and their parents are with them. Mistress Ivárë wants them to remain for observation, but there is no sign of illness or injury.”

“Oh, praise Ulmo,” Hilda sighed, as she removed her cloak and took Cwën’s arm. We’ll go there right away, then I’ll need a bit of a rest.”

“Of course, My Lady. Your rooms are prepared.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Hilda patted the _Elleth_ on the shoulder.

“What happened?” Bard asked Emëldir.

“My Lord, there was a terrible incident in an ice cave not far from here. Saeros was killed, but Evranin fell through some ice, and Tur and Lord Thranduil went in after her. Some how they managed it, but...”

_“What?_ How?”

“Lord Thranduil is being treated for exposure, as is Turamarth. Evvy was trapped and—“ The Council member quickly explained the situation, she must have noticed all the blood leave Bard’s face. “Go, My Lord; you will discover the rest when you get there.”

All his life, Bard saw what happened to people who fell into the Long Lake during the winter. No one lasted more than a few minutes, and many who were rescued in time would lose fingers, toes and sometimes even hands and feet from the frostbite. 

_Oh, gods… no, no, no…. _His heart pounded as he walked quickly toward the Healing Hall, but visions of his Elf bobbing amongst chunks of ice turned his stomach. His feet moved faster, and soon he was running to the infirmary as fast as his legs could carry him.

Bard whipped around the corners and over the walkways, as the Elven guards cleared the way, and when he reached the entrance to the infirmary, he skidded to a stop with a grace that came from his marriage, but belied the turmoil inside of him.

Feren was in the hall outside talking to Airen and Elion. “Lord Bard,” he saluted.

“Wh… How are they? Where’s Thranduil?”

“He is there,” the Commander pointed to the third room on the right. “And—”

But Bard rushed down the corridor and wrenched the door open it to find his husband in a plain white robe, sitting up on the bed as his hand was being wrapped in cloth by an _Elleth_. Legolas hovered close by, looking exhausted.

“Bard?” the Elvenking’s mouth opened in surprise and relief.

“Oh, gods, are you all right?” he was at the bed and had his arms around him before he could finish his thought. Thranduil returned his embrace, bandage forgotten, but the Healer wisely stepped back to allow them to reunite.

“I am so glad you came,” the Elf sighed. 

_“You jumped into freezing water?”_ he pulled back and shouted. _“You could have been killed!_ And why are they bandaging your hands if you are… Oh, gods…Legolas!” 

Bard jumped back up and grabbed the Elf and hugged him tight. “Are you all right, son?” he held the blonde Elf’s face. “Did you get hurt?”

“I am fine, Bard. I did not go in; Evvy was trapped under a chunk of ice bigger than two of these rooms. One of the dogs jumped into to help bring her up, and we hauled all three of them out.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Bard couldn’t help but feel the Elf’s shoulders and arms and turn his head to and fro. “You don’t look injured…” then hugged him again. 

“Truly, you do not need to worry,” Legolas assured him.

“This is what Bard does,” Thranduil smirked. “Just let him fuss.”

“Then I am flattered.” Legolas laughed and returned Bard’s hug before releasing him. “I promise, I am fine. _Ada_ will say the same, but do not believe him.”

Bard sat on the bed beside his husband as the Healer resumed her treatment. “What happened out there?”

“I was not present for most of it, but Vildan, Amrol and Rahlen are busy writing an official report while it is fresh in everyone’s mind. We will need to meet soon to get the entire story.” Thranduil’s breathing was rough. “I was not hurt, but my throat and my hands and feet…”

“What about your hands and feet?” Bard’s head jerked back. “You don’t have to tell me what ice water can do; please tell me these Elves can prevent that!” his head whipped and spoke to the Healer. “He’s going to be all right?”

“Fear not, My Lord; I am merely applying a special salve on the King’s hands and feet to generate heat and prevent tissue damage. It is a precaution, only.”

“Of which I _do not_ need,” Thranduil’s lips pursed in impatience.

“If they think you need it, you’ll do it,” Bard’s brows drew together, and nodded to _Elleth_. “Don’t listen to him, and do what you have to do.”

“That is what Commander Feren said, as well,” the Healer rolled her eyes with a small smile.

“I do not wish to be trapped in this bed! You cannot make me—”

“I won’t be the one making you.” The Bowman kissed his cheek. “But you’re going to plant your arse all the same.”

“Bard!” the Elvenking snapped. “I have to see to—”

“Excuse me,” he said to the Healer, who had begun to apply the salve to the King’s feet. “What is your name, and how long does he have to have that goop on him?”

“My name is Nellas, My Lord. And the salve must remain for twelve hours, as prescribed by Mistress Ivárë. Then we can be sure there is no nerve damage which will save us a great deal of effort to repair.”

“He’ll do as he’s told,” Bard assured her, as she finished up with the feet and started on Thranduil’s other hand. “I can guarantee it. I’ve brought a secret weapon.”

“What?” Thranduil demanded.

“Not what, _who.” _

“Who?” The Elvenking’s brow furrowed in confusion, but instantly smoothed out and his eyes widened, when a familiar, yet commanding voice was heard from the hall. 

> _“Feren! Where in blazes is everyone? Where are the children?” _

“That’s who,” Bard quirked an eyebrow

> _“They are fine, My Lady.” _Came Feren’s respectful reply._”They are with their parents in the first room on the left.”_
> 
> _“Thank you.” _

They all listened to the knock and the door open, followed by muffled voices of relief.

“You brought Hilda?” Thranduil gasped.

“She will make _Ada_ behave,” Legolas smiled.

“You brought Hilda just to make me behave?”

“No, but I’ll take the help where I can get it. So, what else happened? They told me Saeros died and Evvy’s in pretty bad shape.”

“She is worse than that,” Thranduil sank into the pillows. “I am worried, _Meleth nîn_.”

“I know. So, tell me everything, while we wait for Hilda to come in and fuss over you.”

Between his husband and his stepson Bard learned the entire story, and he grasped his elf closer to him. “Oh, shit…” he closed his eyes and tried to digest the horrors. “And Elrohir just…chopped off the hand? How did he know?”

“He sensed something, though it wasn’t visible to the naked eye until the limb was removed.”

“And a ring? Where did it come from?”

“I do not know, though we are sure it is full of dark magic. Elrohir cautioned everyone not to touch it, though even through the thick wrappings, he could feel the effects.”

“Where is it now? We can’t have it out where it could hurt somebody!” the Bowman sighed. “Has Elrohir touched it?”

“No. But I assure you, no one can get to it now. Once we have all recovered, we need to meet and decide what to do about it.” He shook his head. “I do not want this object in my Kingdom, but we must know the correct way to dispose of it, or I fear the evil in that thing could…”

“’Infect’ others?” Bard finished. 

“Exactly. I have sent messages to Galadriel and Mithrandir, hoping for some guidance.”

“Good idea,” Bard ran his hands over his face. “Oh, shit; I didn’t even think to ask how everyone else is. I just heard the words ‘ice water’ and panicked.”

Thranduil lifted a bandaged hand. “Tell him, _Ion nîn_.”

Legolas sighed. “Ómar is doing well; he was not under long enough to be in any danger, but they worry about Turamarth. He is currently under a deep Healing sleep and they are working to heal his lungs. Ivárë thinks it best that he remains unaware of Evranin’s condition for now, lest it hinder his own recovery.”

“And just what is Evranin’s condition?”

“At this point, her heart and lungs will not operate on their own, and we do not know if she will ever wake up.”

“What if she cannot?” Legolas sighed and leaned back in the chair.

“Then I say we keep her going and hope for a miracle anyway.” Bard said. “It could happen.”

Thranduil agreed with his Bowman. “It really should be up to her father and brother to decide if we should let her pass to the Halls of Mandos, or if someone should take her body to the Havens, in hopes she will revive in Valinor.”

“Yes.”

The discussion was interrupted by another visitor bursting into the room.

“Thranduil!” Hilda ran to the Elvenking and enveloped him in her arms. “Oh, my boy…they told me what you did and I’m so proud of you!”

Over her shoulder, Thranduil made a face at his husband, then turned to Hilda, making himself look pathetic. “I am glad someone thinks so; Bard _yelled_ at me.”

The King of Dale rolled his eyes as Legolas covered his mouth to hide his snicker. 

“Go on, then,” Bard got off the bed, “milk it for all it’s worth, while I check on the others.” As he left, Hilda was pulling up Thranduil’s blanket and tucking him in, then turned her attentions to his son. He made it out to the hall, when his Elf noticed something was different about the Mother of Dale.

”Hilda!” Thranduil squeaked in shock. “You are wearing leggings!”

Bard chortled to himself as he knocked on the door across the hall. “May I come in?”

“Of course, My Lord!”

Gildor and Nielthi were holding their children as if they would never let them go again. Rowena was chewing on a berry tart, while Dylan, snuggled beside his father on the bed, was eating a sandwich.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” he smiled, and stooped to ruffle Dylan’s hair. How do you feel, son?”

_“Mmodf,” _the boy said with his mouth full, then remembered his manners. After swallowing his food, he wiped his mouth on his napkin and said. “We’re okay, Lord Bard. Just really hungry.”

“I’ll bet. I’m told you slept through most of it?”

The boy nodded his head. “Rowena made him mad.”

Bard squatted down and whispered. “He hit you, son?”

“He tried to slap my sister for crying, but I grabbed his arm and bit him,” the boy’s mouth turned up, “as hard as I could!”

“I see he didn’t take that well,” Bard grabbed the boy’s chin and turned it to examine the remnants of a bruise on his cheek. “Does that hurt?”

“No. Mistress Ivárë took care of it. She said she was really proud of me!”

“I am, too.” Bard glanced up at Gildor. “Your parents are thrilled to have you back, safe and sound.”

“We are, My Lord.” Gildor kissed the top of the boy’s head as he took another bite.

Ivárë appeared in the doorway. “How are the two of you doing?” She asked. “Now that you have had a chance to calm down a bit, can you tell me if you have any pain or soreness?”

Both children shook their heads.

“Just let me check you over one more time, yes?”

The Healer quickly examined Dylan (who had to stop eating) from head to toe, then did the same for Rowena, who rested her cheek agains her Nana’s chest.

After she straighten and put her hands on her hips, the Healer nodded with satisfaction, “I see no reason to keep you. But please make sure to tell your parents if you feel any kind of pain, all right?”

“Can I finish my sandwich first?” Dylan asked hopefully.

The Healer’s face burst into a lovely smile. 

“Of course, you can. Congratulations, to all of you.” And with a small nod, she left the room.

“I’ll add my own best wishes,” Bard patted Nielthi’s shoulder, and tweaked Rowena’s nose, who snuggled into her Elven mother as she finished her pastry. “If you need anything at all, just let me know, all right?”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Gildor and his wife tried to get up to salute, but Bard waved them down. 

“Sit, sit. Your children need you.”

Bard closed the door behind him, then went to find Turamarth, who was pale and still, while his father, mother and Uncle sat on either side of his bed. Like Thranduil, the Guardian’s arms were wrapped in bandages and he was under several blankets, where Bard assumed the salve had been applied to his legs.

“How is he?” Bard whispered, as he went to Indis and squeezed her elbow.

“The same,” Ómar, who was also wearing a white robe and bandages replied softly.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Bard asked him, “I heard you were also carried here.”

“That is what I told him,” Adamar said, from the other side of the bed.

“They will be bringing another cot.” Indis said, “It is the only way we can make him rest.”

“Good idea. Don’t give Ómar too hard of a time; if this were one of my children, I’d be doing the same thing. So, what does the Healer say?”

“He is very weak, My Lord. As you know, he was not completely recovered from his ordeal in the summer, so the effects of the cold are more severe. Ivárë said his lungs took in soiled water, and it will take some time to heal them, so he will remain in a Sleep for several days.”

“But he _will_ be all right?” Bard leaned over and saw the golden jewel was still around his neck. He pointed to it and said, “surely that thing will help him.”

“That was given to help his _fëa,_ My Lord; though we do hope it will encourage his body.”

“Whatever works,” Bard placed his hand on Tur’s brow and whispered a short prayer. The Elf’s breathing was rougher than Thranduil’s, but at least it was regular. “Does he know about Evvy?”

Indis shook her head. “They took him away before they discovered her condition. I fear when he wakes and discovers the truth, it will cause him to relapse.”

“By ‘relapse,’” Bard’s chest twisted, “you don’t mean his lungs, do you?”

Indis blinked back tears. “He has come so far, Lord Bard. Yet we still might lose him!”

Bard put his arm around her. “Don’t give up; just worry about today, and let tomorrow take care of itself. Percy has a great saying—“

“‘One foot in front of the other?’” Adamar’s mouth curved up slightly.

The Bowman rolled his eyes. "Keep that up, and he'll be wanting his own statue with that etched on it." After patting and squeezing Indis’s hand, he said. “I’m going to go see Evvy. Daeron is with him?”

“And so is Idril.”

“Good. We will keep you in our prayers. Hilda will be in to check on you soon.”

And indeed, Daeron was beside a still and deathly pale Evvy, who was layered in blankets. Idril was gently brushing out her thick blonde hair, and making sure it was completely dry. More important, Bard observed, she was offering the unconscious _Elleth_, the comfort of a mother’s touch. _Valar knows the poor girl needs it,_ Bard thought.

Daeron and another Healer were seated beside her, with their hands underneath the blankets, helping Evvy breath and keep her heart steady. On the side cupboard, a steaming bowl held several leaves of crushed _Athelas_.

Bard studied the Guardian, and saw he was pale and haggard.

“Daeron, you look exhausted,” Bard set his hands on the Elf’s shoulders. “They told me how hard you’ve worked to get her heart started again, and I’m proud of you, but maybe it’s time you go get a bit of rest, so you can come back stronger, yeah?”

Bard’s eyes lifted to meet Idril’s and knew his mother had been telling him the same. With a reassuring nod, he said, “I’m going to go get Ivárë and after she finds someone to take your place, _you_ are going to go get some sleep.” 

“But—“

“That’s an order, Lieutenant. We’re not going to add another patient for the Mistress to worry about, is that clear?”

Bard silently closed the door behind him, and after seeking out the Healer, it was soon arranged. “I am working on a schedule for her to be watched constantly. The sons of Elrond have volunteered to stay and help.” Ivárë sighed. “Elladan supports Daeron’s treatment plan, and has convinced his brother to hope.”

”Not sure what that is about, but we can talk about it later,” Bard told her. “You’ve been wonderful, Mistress. Thank you.”

”I am simply doing my job, My Lord,” she said, but she was clearly pleased.

Before he went back to his husband, the King of Dale arranged for several messages to be sent to Dale, then offered up another prayer for Evvy.

_I don’t know where she is,_ _but please,_ _send someone to look after her; don’t let her wander in the darkness!_

**NOTES:**

[1] From _What Makes a King_, Ch. 29: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/26920293>

[2] _Fînlossen_ and Bowen’s mare, _Vórima_ are expecting a foal next July. _Legolas, Ion nîn_, Ch. 37: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/47219776>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to thank absolutely everyone who rode with me on the bus trip to Dale!
> 
> Thank you: BagofAngryKittens, Golden, Leemitage (Love you, Adele!), littbrat, Morvidra, Sebby1027, TildatheFlowerGirl, Constantine_You_Owe_Me (and his lovely fiancee, Bethany), Dmaddruidd, Gouniverseofauniverse, kayakaari, Kyuumaihara, Less, Levana, Mirimi, Nafritiel, NightingalesandHandGrenades, PirateLawrence, vanessaSU, WinterGenisis, and Yoshiaki!!
> 
> You are all wonderful, and a special thank you to those who wrote me to participate, or who commented during this story. YOU GUYS are what made this story even possible and what made it fun! And you all were so nice to our other guests who decided to tag along! They appreciate it!
> 
> I'd also like to thank the Pixley Red Hat Society, along with some of the folks from the Shady Pines Senior Center, who joined our little group.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kings hold a meeting to compare notes, when a message arrives with disappointing news. 
> 
> Thanks to the intervention of Friends in High Places, the fate of one of the Elves is decided forever in an unexpected way.
> 
> Oh; and for those who haven’t guessed it yet, our villian is positively ID’d.

* * *

_“But I believe in Love_

_And I know that you do, too_

_And I believe in some kind of path_

_That we can walk down, me and you_

_So keep your candles burning_

_Make her journey bright and pure_

_That she'll keep returning_

_Always and evermore_

_Into my arms, oh Lord_

_Into my arms, oh Lord_

_Into my arms, oh Lord_

_Into my arms…”_

** _ _ ** _ by** Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds** _

**The Woodland Realm, 9th of December 2944 T.A.**

The day after the horrific events at the cave, the Kings met with the Healers and some others to discuss the progress and treatment of their patients.

"We see no physical injuries on Gildor’s children whatsoever, besides some bruises. Dylan’s eye is back to normal, but for a bit of redness, but that will dissipate in in a few days. Rowena had some bruising on her arms, but nothing was torn or bleeding.”

“And they are settled down?” Bard asked Hilda. 

“As much as they can be,” she told the group. “They’ll be spending a few days at home with their Mam and Da, then everybody needs to get back to their regular routine. It’s really the best thing, I think.”

“I agree,” Ivárë said. “It would be different if they had been awake in the cave, but I do not see real damage in their eyes or in their hearts.”

“That’s really great news,” Bard sat back with satisfaction. “Do you think you need to stay, Hil?”

“No,” her lips moved in a smile. “I’m delighted to say they don’t need me, so I’ll head back to Dale with Rahlen and his boys.”

“The Healing House is short-staffed at the moment, so it’ll be good if the twins can go.”

“I am afraid Elrohir must stay, Bard,” Thranduil corrected. 

The Bowman’s head whipped around to face the sons of Elrond. “Really?”

“At least long enough to know when or if Mithrandir can come. He will want to speak to Elrohir.”

“What about that thing on Saeros’s hand?”

“Most of that discussion must wait, for now,” Thranduil said. “Be assured; the ring is well-insulated and away from the rest of the population of the Palace, and under heavy guard.”

“Excellent,” Bard blew out a breath of relief. “Elrohir, do you have a sense that you were affected by that ring?”

“I can answer that,” his twin said. “The short answer is yes, but not a great deal, as he did not come into physical contact with it.”

“But you are better?”

“I am.” For a split second, Elrohir’s face hardened, then he blinked and relaxed his features.

Daeron leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “_Aran nîn_, I cannot remain away from my cousin and Evvy for too long, and Ivárë needs to get back to Lidros. Would it be possible to bring up their treatment options?”

“Of course,” Thranduil nodded. “Please; what is their current condition?”

Ivárë and Daeron exchanged glances and he began: “My cousin is in a deep Healing Sleep, and I am not sure if it would be wise to awaken him, just yet. He still suffers the effects of his torture at the hands of Pallando, and I fear that whatever might have influenced Saeros to commit such evil deed might cause him a serious setback.”

“You are wise to be concerned,” Elrohir said. “I am healthy, and my blood has been blessed by the Maia. 1 However, Vildan states that before the ice fell, Turamarth and Saeros were engaged in a wrestling match to gain control of a knife his attacker possessed. There is little doubt he touched it.”

“Oh, shit…” Bard murmured under his breath.

“Would that we had known of this,” Thranduil said, a thoughtful frown drawing his eyebrows together, as he ran his fingers over his brow. “I could have ordered Tur to stay.”

“Yet that would have also done injury to his _Fëa_, My Lord,” Daeron said. “Though much has happened to come between them, Tur is in love with Evvy; of that I am positive. He would rather perish in his efforts to save her, for the anguish of being left behind would also harm him.”

“I must confirm my nephew’s thoughts,” Ómar told them. “In any case, it is too late for such sentiments. We must focus on what we can do now to help my son, and decide what to do about Evvy.”

“For now, Tur will sleep, and my family is constantly with him, to keep him connected to those who love him best,” Daeron said. “As for Evranin,” he sighed, “I know my decision to revive her heart after such a long time was met with some resistance—”

“Not without sympathy and respect, _Mellon nîn_,” Elrohir bowed his head. 

“It is well,” Daeron returned the gesture. “You were not wrong to speak your mind. Yet, every instinct I possess tells me that we must continue the heroic efforts to keep her alive.”

“I had wondered if my brother’s encounter with that ring might have clouded his judgement,” Elladan said. “I did not find any trace of her _Fëa__, _either.”

“But it’s not necessarily hopeless,” Bard interjected.

“How can you say this?” Elrohir’s eyes held a flash of shock. “Evvy is no longer there!”

“Because we’ve been through this before.” He inclined his dark head toward the Commander, “do you remember what happened when I smashed my leg and Thranduil nearly died to keep me alive?”

“I do,” Feren said quietly. “For five days, Thranduil’s life hung in the balance while we took shifts to keep you both alive. We did not sense Thranduil’s spirit at all.” 2

“What?” Legolas gasped. “Lord Elrond told me some, but I did not know _this!”_

_ _

“Ermon said it was as if my _Fëa_ had left my body, and I was an empty shell. Yet, here I am,” Thranduil spread his hands as if to prove his point. “However small, Daeron and I agree that Evvy must have this chance.” 

“I agree, as well,” Ivárë said. “We will keep to our original plan: keep her alive and wait for her family. If there is no change, they will be presented with their options.”

“Should the family decide to take her to the Havens,” the Elvenking started, “I will fund the trip and make sure their safety is guaranteed.”

Bard turned back to his Elf. “But there is more to your story than just keeping your heart beating, Thranduil. It was Mírelen who helped you come back.” His eyes swept around the table. “And I was with Gandalf. I remember that as clear as if it was yesterday.” The King of Dale’s gaze swept around the table. “Our point is, there is more to these things than what we see and hear. Maybe Lady Galadriel will find a way to help her, like she helped our youngest daughter. For all we know, they’re gathered around her Mirror while we’re even talking now!”

“That is entirely possible, My Lord,” Daeron affirmed. “I helped her with that procedure; she provided the power and strength and I provided my knowledge and experience, and between us, Princess Tilda’s heart lungs and the brain were completely restored.”

The sons of Elrond were flabbergasted. “Our grandmother said nothing about this…”

“We were off with the Dúnedain, remember?” Legolas reminded them. 

“True…” Elrohir rubbed his chin. “Tilda’s health is perfect.” 

There was a knock at the door. It was one of Adamar’s guards. “Please excuse the interruption, My Lord Thranduil,” he saluted, “but you did say you wanted to be given any message that comes.”

“I did,” Thranduil held out his hand to receive the small piece of paper. “Did it come by bird?”

“A trio of doves, to be exact. They arrived just a few minutes ago.”

“Already?” Bard was surprised. “You just sent word to Celeborn yesterday!”

“It is from Celeborn, yes,” Thranduil skimmed the note. “But our messages have crossed paths. It says:

> _Thranduil - Saw Evranin’s accident via Mirror. Bringing Óhtar & Orlin; should arrive within a fortnight—”_

“Please tell me Galadriel’s coming!” Hilda, asked hopefully.

The Elvenking sighed and shook his head.

> _Regret to say Lady must remain; still recovering from attack in June. We must place our hope in others this time, Ettā. -Celeborn_

Thranduil put down the message ran his hand over his face. “I was hoping,” he whispered.

“Oh, no…” Hilda winced.

“Now let’s not be quick to panic,” Bard held up his hands. “Celeborn’s right; after all, Galadriel had nothing to do with our recovery, did she? No! Who’s to say the Valar doesn’t have someone else lined up to help?”

“But who is to say they do?” Ómar asked. “What if they do not?”

“Then,” Bard placed his hand on Thranduil’s forearm, “we will do what we planned in the first place; give her good supportive care and let the family decide.”

“As soon I hear from Mithrandir, we will meet again and dissect this incident in greater detail. In the meantime, try to get some rest and recover. That is all, everyone. Thank you.”

The Elvenking rose and everyone got to their feet and left the Council room, with one exception. 

The Bowman knew his Elf needed a minute, so he followed the crowd to the door, closed it behind them, then slowly approached his husband.

Thranduil braced his hands on the table and hung his head in sorrow. “All this time…” he murmured, “all this time, I had someone in my Palace who possessed such a thing…. How could I not know, Bard? How could I not sense it? _I am Sindar, for Valar’s sake! I am King and the safety of my people is my responsibility!” _

“Thranduil—“ Bard put his hand on the Elf’s shoulder.

“That Elf lived in my Palace for decades, Bard! Maybe if I hadn’t been so…closed off, so wrapped up in my own misery, Seldion and Heril would be alive today… My people…” Thranduil’s face contorted with guilt and shame._ “Ai gorgor,_ Bard… your women and children were here that first winter—“

“You had no way of—”

“Tur is not the only one who came into contact with that ring! Just before the ice fell, Saeros had his hands around Evvy’s neck!”

A sense of dread rolled through the pit of Bard’s stomach. “Oh, bloody fuck…”

“That innocent young _Elleth_, was touched by that evil, and it is my fault!” He pounded the table with both fists and when that didn’t help, he grabbed the tray with pitchers and glasses and threw it across the room.

“Wait, wait, wait; stop this! Stop this right now!” Bard turned Thranduil around to face him and shook him hard. “You can’t control the lives of every person in your Kingdom any more than I can! You can’t control what’s in their hearts or minds, either. Neither one of us wants to be that kind of ruler, do we?

“Think about it, love; even if what you said was true, don’t you think Adamar or Feren would have noticed something? Any one of the guards at the Palace could have seen or heard something and reported, but they didn’t. And then there’s Legolas; he has powerful Sindar blood, but he’s also part Noldor, isn’t he? Do you think if your son sensed something that he wouldn’t rest until he got to the bottom of it? 

“Yes,” the Elvenking said quietly. “That is true, but—“

“So why does all this have to be your fault? By your standard I was to blame for Jarod and Tim and all his cronies. 4 They had good references and it was my choice to grant their stay; and when I blamed myself for the attack, what did you tell me?”

“But she was under _my_ protection, and I did not do enough.”

“Look, you know Adamar and Ómar were watching out for her, as well as their wives, and don’t forget Airen and Elion; what could you have done?”

“I could have looked into this situation sooner, Bard! I should have brought her to Dale, or sent Saeros away; but now she is lying in that bed…”

“Listen to me!” Bard shook him again. “Suppose what you say is true; would anything change about her treatment? Could they do anything that they’re not already doing?”

“No,” he admitted. Thranduil closed his eyes and sighed, as Bard pulled him into his arms. “I feel so badly about this.”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be a worthy King. But you _are_, love; you’re just exhausted. Now, follow your own orders, and let me take you back to our rooms, so you can get try to get a little rest. I know you tossed and turned all last night.” Bard hugged him again, rubbed his Elf’s back, then took him by the hand. “Come on. I’ll have them bring us something to eat and we can relax in our chambers.”

“We could do that, but…”

“You want to stop and check on Tur and Evvy, first?”

Thranduil leaned his head on Bard’s shoulder. “Please.”

Later, after a good meal (which Bard had to almost force his husband to eat), the Kings relaxed with some tea in front of the fire. Bard’s eyes drifted to the merry collection of pictures on the mantel. The children were there, of course, but in recent months, Thranduil had added more: Tauriel with Bain, as she instructs him in using fighting knives; Legolas laughing with Tilda over some secret joke; Rôgon with his arm around Galion’s shoulder as they gaze into each other’s eyes, and even Thangon, touching noses with Meryl, when she was a tiny puppy.

“It’s getting crowded up there,” he put his arm around Thranduil and drew him close. “But I like it.”

“When I am alone here in the evenings, I like to sit and draw,” the Elvenking snuggled into him. “It makes me happy.”

“I’m sorry you have to be gone from us so often, love,” Bard kisses his temple.

“So am I, but I do not dislike the solitude here, Bard. Our life together has been such a whirlwind, full of activity and noise and highs and lows…” his chest lifted and sagged in a sigh, “Elves are a contemplative race, _Meleth nîn, _so I use my time here to walk under the stars and let them bring me strength and peace.”

“I suppose I do the same thing, when I grab my bow and go shooting for a few hours,” Bard toyed with a lock of Thranduil’s hair. “It helps me get back to myself, when I feel pulled in twenty different directions.”

“We should always make time for such things,”

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, as they watched the flames dance in the fireplace, but Bard’s thoughts traveled back to the patients lying in the infirmary.

“Do you really think Evvy will come back?”

“I wish I knew. Her spirit is wandering, and if Námo summons her to his Halls there is little we can do. Such things are beyond us, though I wish it were not.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Bard rested his cheek on his Elf’s head. “What I saw of it anyway. But let’s hope she has someone to help her, like Mírelen and Gandalf helped us. If she does…”

“Then she will come back to us?”

He shrugged slightly. “You never know, love.”

***************

Vairë the Weaver sat before her Tapestry of the Story of the World. Her hair was pulled back, as was her custom while she worked, and her deep red dress contrasted with the shining, silver locks that hung past her waist. The rubies in her crown matched the ones that were pinned into the long thick braid, and she hummed as her fingers flew across the piece with a speed and accuracy that came from the skill practiced since before the Middle Earth was created.

But even an expert such as Vairë can occasionally have difficulty, as was the case with the wool in her hands. It began bright and strong, but most of it was a dull, sickly Grey color, and she managed to work some of it into the tapestry when it suddenly snapped, and the ragged portion was dangling from her needle.

The Vala of Fate blinked a few times in confusion, as she stepped away from her loom to try and find a solution to this… problem, but there was no doubt about it; something was not right.

Sighing in frustration, she reached into her pocket of her apron and grabbed her small, curved scissors. With lips pursed in concentration, she painstakingly picked out the last several stitches and removed the first part of the thread and carried the two pieces to show her husband.

_“Melmenya?”_ She entered Námo’s study, where he was studying some images on the wall. “I need your help.”

“Hello, my dear,” he kissed her cheek. “What is the problem?”

“This.” She grabbed his hand and placed the shredded pieces in his palm.

Námo manipulated them for a few moments, rubbing them between his fingers. “This one was in the tapestry, yes?”

“It was, although I do not like its color.”

“My wife, we cannot choose the nature of the souls we encounter,” he reminded her gently.

“Sadly, that is true, though the majority are pleasant to work with. Still, at some point it changes, but still goes on… but this broke of its own accord! Who is he?”

Námo held up the first thread again with narrowed eyes. “Just a minute… I believe I know what this is about,” he said, before turning his attention back to his black marble wall. With a swipe of his hand, the images disappeared, then he turned his palm over with and upward motion. The faces of an Auburn- haired Ellon and Elleth appeared.

“Who are they?” 

“Seldion and Heril, Silk Weavers from the Woodland Realm. They are here, at present, but will be leaving for Valinor fairly soon.”

“What happened to them?”

“They were murdered,” he said, “by their son.” The Vala gracefully moved his fingers up, to reveal a picture of Saeros.

Vairë’s eyes lit up with indignation. “Surely not! Were they unkind to him?”

“Not at all,” he pointed to the smiling faces of the Elves, “Seldion and Heril were good and generous. They did not deserve such violence. And just recently,” he moved his fingers, and a beautiful young _Elleth_ with huge doe-eyes of deep brown and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, appeared, “he caused the death of Evranin, daughter of Ohtar and Vériel – whose rooms are being prepared as we speak. As soon as I am finished here, I will summon her.”

“That is terrible!”

“And there is more,” Námo shook his head sadly. “Lidros, Keeper of Letters at the King Thranduil’s Palace has been badly injured. His rooms are ready; I am only waiting for his _Fëa_ to be released from his body.”

“I thought we were finished with Kinslayings in the First Age!”

“So did I, my wife,” Námo fingered the shredded piece of wool. “To kill another Elf is a terrible thing, but to slay one’s own parents…” He held up the shredded piece. 

“What will you do?”

"I do not wish to keep the souls who callously murder innocents. Perhaps he should be cast into the Void."

You cannot mean that _Venno__!_ What will happen to his fëa? Fëanor and all his sons are here, yet they committed heinous acts against their own kin!”

“And if it were up to me, they would not be!” Námo snapped, then he sighed and reached out and rubbed her shoulders. “Forgive me; the pain of the First Age weighs heavily, sometimes. Several of them regretted their Oath and have spent their time in repentance and prayer. Though they cannot go to Valinor, _Eru_ will give them opportunities for atonement. 

“And Fëanor?”

Fëanor, must wait until after the Dagor Dagorath to fulfill his ultimate destiny, though I am not convinced he admits his mistakes. But what if this broken thread, with its odd color is sign from _Eru_—“

_“Larta-mecin, háno!”_ Another graceful figure entered the room. Nienna, the sister of Mandos and Irmo, and was acquainted with grief and sorrow but also of pity and courage. She was dressed in deep black, the color of mourning, with white gems adorning her high neckline and in her flowing blonde hair. 

“What can I do for you, my sister?”

“You cannot condemn this Elf to such a fate without hearing the rest of the story, my brother.”

“The Ellon murdered his parents,” he said, not without sorrow, “I do not see where I have much of a choice.”

“I will explain.” She stepped up beside her brother and sister-in-law and placed her hand on the wall. Instantly, the strange Ellon appeared. 

“I do not know of this Elf,” Námo studied the figure before them. 

“Nor do I,” Vairë’s brow pulled together in a frown.

“Because he is not an Elf,” Nienna told them sadly. 

Námo thoughtfully narrowed his eyes. “You are correct; how could I have missed this?”

“It is not your fault,” Nienna said softly, and patted his shoulder. “This almost never happens, and since you must keep track of so many souls in these halls, most of the time you only need to rely on first appearances.”

“But who is he?”

“Before I tell you who and what he is, I want you to witness an encounter between Saeros, of Seldion, and the Elf who called himself _Istimor.”_

Vairë and Námo exchanged curious glances as his sister swept her hand in a circle to reveal two young Elves, arguing: 

> _The taller Ellon with mahogany-colored hair was taunting and teasing the shorter, slighter Elfling with bright-red hair, as the child’s fists clenched with fury and humiliation. He bit his lower lip, then yelled at the bigger Elf, until someone else, a relative of the bully came and dragged him a way._

“That is Saeros?”

“It is. And the other Elf is Turamarth son of Ómar, Captain of the Guard in all areas surrounding King Thranduil’s Palace. This event took place over Nineteen hundred years ago, when Saeros and Turamarth were only twenty-five years of age.”

“All children misbehave,” Námo said.

“Wait, and you will see why this is important,” Nienna nodded.

> _The red-haired Elfling, blinded by tears, ran through the trees until he reached a lovely Hickory tree. He put up his arms and leaned into it, as he buried his face and sobbed, then turned and slid down as his body shook._

_“Naire…”_ Vairë fought to keep her voice steady. “The poor child...” She held up the wool taken from the tapestry and showed her sister-in-law the small portion containing colors. 

“Yes,” Nienna’s eyes filled with tears, “before this, he was a sweet Elf, who had yet to understand his true promise in the world.” Her voice broke, and a tear fell from her light grey eyes. “It is a tragedy.”

“_Nésa,” _Námo’s face was grim, “are you saying _this_ incident caused the Elf to grow up into a murderer? The misbehavior of children?”

“No, my dear Brother,” Nienna said, softly. “This was.”

> _They watched with interest as the strange Elf approached the child and after speaking to him, handed him a small object, with a reassuring smile. Saeros turned the ring over in his fingers and asked a few questions. Then he held up his hand and put it on, admiring how the black metal shone in the light._
> 
> _ _
> 
> _Istimor gave Saeros an indulgent smile, then got to his feet and disappeared into the forest from whence he came._

“Was that what I think it is?”5

“As we know Sauron dwelled for many years in Dol Guldur, and his servants harassed the Wood Elves for centuries. That innocent Elfling was given one of several lesser rings made by Sauron, Námo. He is just as much a victim as his parents and the others! You cannot cast him away; he was was a child!”

“No,” Námo sighed, deeply saddened, “I cannot. I have witnessed many despicable acts since the beginning of time, but this...” he turned and met his sister’s moist eyes. “How did you come to know this?”

“I have spent a great deal of time counseling Seldion and Heril, and since they arrived, they maintained that _something_ happened to darken their son’s heart. To my own shame, I did not heed their words, but since their time here has come to an end, I decided to investigate. Praise _Eru _I did; if not for the fervent and consistent petitions of a mother and father who never stopped loving their son, we would be damning this soul to an endless, merciless existence!”

“Praise _Ilúvitar_ you came to us in time,” Vairë’s shoulders dropped in relief. 

“What is to be done with this ‘Istimor?’”

“It has already been done, _Háno_.” Once again, Nienna pointed to the wall where the scene was continuing to unfold. 

> _Istimor walked into the forest, as he took another ring out of his own pocket and placed it on his finger, Saeros’s jaw dropped as the tall, strange Elf vanished in his eyes._
> 
> _ _
> 
> _But the three who observed all this were Valar, and no ring could hide the truth. The tall Elf morphed into an an ancient figure with a long, white beard, wearing a cloak of sea-blue. He leaned on a staff of dark blue as he threw back his head and laughed._

“Pallando!” Vairë cried in horror. _ “He_ was the author of these evil deeds? For what purpose? It did nothing to change the fate the North, or did it increase Sauron’s reach in any way!”

“No; this was an act of cruelty, for its own sake,” Námo shook his head in anger. “He did this purely for his own entertainment. The worst kind of evil.”

“He is beyond any of us now,” Vairë reminded them. “Pallando has been cast into Nothingness by the Bearers of the Three; we will never be subjected to him again.”

At Nienna’s stricken expression, Námo said, “Pity him not my sister, for he chose his path, and no one could stop him.” The Lord of Mandos took her hands in his and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. Do Saeros’s parents know any of this?”

“No; I thought it wise to settle matters with you, first.” 

“Say nothing to them, but bring them before me, and,” he smiled, “we will bring this long, sad tale to an end, yes?”

“I would be delighted to,” Nienna’s smile brightened the entire room, as she inclined her head and left.

***************

He found himself alone in a strange place, with no trees, no plants, just sand beneath his feet in a color he’d never seen before. The land was barren, but for the stars that glittered in the sky, and wind blew around him, billowing his hair.   
  


  
What is this place?

He looked down at himself. He was wearing familiar clothing, the same leggings, tunic and boots, and he tried to check his head—

Saeros slowly lifted his right arm, and his eyes bulged at the sight. His hand was missing. It had been chopped clean off at the wrist, yet it did not bleed, nor did it even hurt.

Up ahead, some sort of tall, narrow structure suddenly appeared. Not knowing what else to do, he set off in that direction only to see it was not really a tower at all.

The heavy doors stood tall in the starlight, yet there was no house, no wall, no fence. Saeros walked to the side and looked beyond them, but there was nothing but the same barren landscape under the stars.

Confused, he walked back to the center, tilted his head up. _“Suil?”_ he called out. “Is anyone there?”

The doors slowly opened inward into blackness; his shadow grew long against the light from outside. No one was there. 

He swallowed nervously and entered, his footsteps making eerie echoes throughout large dark hall. The walls were shiny black marble and the pillars were made of highly polished Obsidian. Saeros couldn’t see any ceiling, but dozens upon dozens of ornate lamps hung in the air, and their bright light bounced off the walls and columns, making this place oddly comforting. 

“Hello?” he said, his voice echoing into the emptiness, as his head bobbed back and forth taking in his surroundings.

Two guards dressing in armor the same color as the walls appeared at either side of him and took hold of his arms.

“You will come with us,” the one on his left told him, in a deep voice.

Out of the side of his vision, Saeros noticed their faces were covered with a fine mesh, concealing their features. “Where are you taking me?”

“You are in the Halls of Mandos, and you will be brought before King Námo to be judged and have your doom appointed.”

As the words sunk in, the memory of recent events came back to him, and his knees buckled in anguish. The guards half-dragged him across the long Hall, and through an elaborately curved archway to stand before two powerful figures high on their thrones, then left him to stand alone. 

King Námo, and Queen Vairë, rulers of the Underworld. They were of a shape like him, yet they were more; otherworldly, and unimaginable power emanated from each of them. 

“Come forth, Saeros, son of Seldion.”

He took a few tentative steps and climbed on the dais to face them directly. “My Lord,” his voice shook, “My Lady… I will not ask, nor do I deserve any kind of mercy for my deeds during my life. I am ready to accept any punishment you deem fit.”

The Elf kneeled before the Lord and Lady, bowed his head and waited.

“I see you have lost a hand, Saeros,” a deep, booming voice filled the air, yet the tone was not unkind.

“I have, My Lord, yet I do not mourn it’s loss. It held a curse, though I have never understood it.” His voice broke, “Would that I had the courage to chop it off myself in life! I could have spared my family, my comrades and my King much heartache…” a sob escaped him, and his eyes remained on the ground as tears fell. “I can only give praise and gratitude to the son of Elrond who at least lifted my burden in death.”

“My intention was to send you into the Void for your crimes, Son of Seldion,” Námo said.

“Then I will go willingly, and thank you, My Lord,” he closed his eyes. 

“As I said, that was my intention, but no longer.”

Saeros looked up, his brows drawn together in puzzlement. “Excuse me?”

Amusement glinted in Lord Námo’s eyes as they came to rest upon his sister. “Nienna?”

A beautiful figure entered and came to stand to his left, her dress and hair shimmered with small diamonds, and her eyes full of compassion and understanding. “Saeros,” she said gently, her voice sounding like clear water in a mountain stream. 

“I… I do not understand, My Lady,” he said, tears pouring down his face. “I do not… I am not worthy of any sort of kindness.”

“Fear not, child.” The Vala took a silver silken handkerchief from her pocket and smiled as she gently wiped his face.

“Saeros,” Lord Námo said, “it is time to pronounce your sentence.”

He straightened his shoulders, as Nienna’s hand slipped into his. “I am ready.”

“The true nature of that which you were forced to bear has recently come to light, thanks to the efforts of my beloved sister and those who advocated for you. It is through their determined efforts, that we have discovered the truth of what happened to you that day in the forest when you encountered a being called Istimor.”

“The one who gave me…” he held up his stump.

“The same. But he was no Elf at all; he was a Maia who allowed himself to become a servant of the Dark Lord. I am truly sorry for your loss, Saeros; you were a needless pawn in a cruel game, but rest assured, your attacker has been destroyed, and will no longer trouble anyone.” The Vala leaned forward in his throne, and said, “your life, and all its possibilities, was stolen from you, through no fault of your own, and I mourn your loss.

“However, though most of your actions were not of your own will, an Elf who causes the death of an innocent cannot enter the Undying Lands. For you, Saeros, the way will be forever closed. This is a law I cannot disregard, as it was decreed by _Eru_ _Ilúvitar_, Father of All. You must remain here, in the Halls of Mandos for the remainder of your existence.”

Saeros nodded. “I understand, My Lord. Yet even that sentence brings me joy. I do not care where I live so long as my soul is free.”

“That is well,” the Lord’s mouth curved slightly upwards. “I have prepared a set of rooms for you, and I think you will find them comfortable, yet you need not remain alone.”

“My Lord?”

Queen Vairë covered her mouth to hide a smile, and Nienna squeezed Saeros’s hand.

“Shortly before your arrival, I had deemed your parents ready to enter the Blessed Lands, yet they have asked me if they could remain here with you; with your permission, of course?”

Saeros swayed from the shock. “But… I do not think I should—”

“My child,” Nienna said beside him. “They never stopped believing in you, and it was they who advocated and compelled me to find the evidence of your innocence. Will you give them this chance to love their son like they always wanted? And will you give yourself this chance to accept this love?”

His mouth opened as he glanced between the three Vala with wide, disbelieving eyes. ”I cannot let you... I am not worthy of any of this!” he pleaded. “Please do not keep them from the bliss of the White Shores, where their painful memories of me will fade. They should forget they ever had me, and find some peace.”

“Your sentiment does you credit,” Námo told him. “But let us ask them, shall we?”

A door opened behind the Lord and Lady’s thrones, and an Elven couple slowly entered. 

_“Nana?”_ Saeros heart and voice belonged to the child he had been before he was lost. _“Ada?”_

_”Ion nîn...” _Heril smiled and opened her arms, and the look of love and hope on their faces told him it would be all right.

Saeros wanted to go to them, but his feet wouldn’t move. He cried out and fell to his knees, as his father rushed forward and engulfed him into his arms. 

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ego, ihûg pen-ind!_ – Fuck off, you spineless worm!

_Huil_ _pen-channas – _Stupid bitch

_Larta-mecin, háno!_ – (Q.) Please wait, brother

_Melmenya_ – (Q.) My love

_NAEG! – _OUCH!

_Naire –_ (Q.) Lament

_Venno _– (Q.) Husband

**NOTES:**

[1] Queen Melian was Elrohir’s 2nd Great-grandmother. <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Melian>

[2] _And Winter Came…_; Ch. 34: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/31479384>

[3] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 3: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/48867101>

[4] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 37: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37370825>

[5] From _The Fellowship of the Ring_, Chapter Two, (Shadows of the Past): "In Eregion long ago many Elven-rings were made, magic rings as you call them, and they were, of course, of various kinds: some more potent and some less. The lesser rings were only essays in the craft before it was full-grown, and to the Elven-smiths they were but trifles - yet to my mind dangerous for mortals. But the Great Rings, the Rings of Power, they were perilous." “ <http://tolkien.cro.net/rings/other.html>


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the patients lie in the Healing House, Legolas is forced to learn an excruciating lesson about ruling. And finally, we see what’s going on with Evvy!

**A small note, before we begin:**

Ok, I am just the worst, most inconsiderate, absent-minded author ever.

Picture it:

I was fast asleep, minding my own business, when woke up to find my entire cast crowded around my bed. And they did _not look _pleased.

> _“YIKES!” I screamed. “Wha…” I shook my head and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “Is there a problem?”_
> 
> _“You bet your sweet bippy there’s a problem!” Ivárë, the Mistress Healer yelled. “I get that you want to create all these AU’s and put them through all kinds of hell, but if you plan on killing any one of them off, could you at least remember, not leave them hanging?” _
> 
> _“What do you mean?” I sat up straighter and, as discreetly as possible, adjusted my sports bra and pulled down my t-shirt._
> 
> _“Not what, who!”_
> 
> _“Who?”_
> 
> _“Lidros, you idiot!” Ivárë waved her hands. “You left that poor Elf lying on in a treatment room after his head got bashed in and forgot about him!”_
> 
> _“Oh, shit!” I scrunched my eyes closed. “Oh, crap, I’m sorry. Is he mad?”_
> 
> _“I’ll say! You go to all that trouble to give Saeros that sappy, smarmy resolution, but you completely ignore this guy! Look, I’ve known him for centuries – we’ve even got out a few times, but that never really panned out - but that shouldn’t make any difference! He’s a sweet Elf and he deserves a little dignity! Does he live? Does he die? Could you at least make it so the poor guy can use the bathroom? His legs have been crossed for weeks now!”_
> 
> _“Well, for Valar’s sake, get the poor guy a bedpan!” I glared at Ivárë. “You’re a Healer, why do you need me to write that? Readers don’t want to know about every time you take a dump!”_
> 
> _“Fine,” she huffed. “I might have exaggerated just a bit on that front, but you still should keep track of all the different twists and turns you inflict upon us.” _
> 
> _Galion came forward, his eyes narrowed into slits. “And for the record, I have not forgiven you for…the incident.”_
> 
> _“What incident?” Tilda asked. _
> 
> _“Shhh! Do not make her mad, Mîr nîn.” Rôgon muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “she has not had coffee, yet!”_
> 
> _ “You want me to rewrite that?” I cocked an eyebrow. “I could make it so you never have the ‘Elf Thing,” again!”_
> 
> _“No,” the Aide lowered his gaze. “Sorry.”_
> 
> _“Do not waste our time with empty threats,” Thranduil roared. “We know how much your readers love the Elf Thing; you’d never get rid of it!”_
> 
> _“What’s a Elf Thing, Ada?” Tilda inclined her head back to ask Thranduil. _
> 
> _“You’re right,” I sighed as pulled my legs up and rested my arms on my blanket-covered knees. “I’ll take care of this next chapter, I promise. And please tell Lidros I’m really sorry. I’ll write it today.”_
> 
> _The group did not move. Thranduil crossed his arms._
> 
> _“Okay, fine!” I rolled my eyes and threw the covers back. “I’ll get up and write it now!”_
> 
> _“Good,” Bard said, as he scanned the contents of my shelves. “Geez, your room’s small.”_
> 
> _“It ain’t much, but it’s home,” I yawned. “Are we done, guys? I need to put the dog out.”_
> 
> _“That is all, for now,” the Elvenking saluted, and the group turned to leave._
> 
> _“Oh, hey!” I called._
> 
> _Thranduil stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?” _
> 
> _“Next time, could you bring me a large coffee from Adila’s with extra cream and a shot of vanilla?”_
> 
> _“I will see what I can do.”_
> 
> _“’K, bye!”_

…and that’s when I woke up…

* * *

_“And though my love is rare_

_And though my love is true_

_I'm like a bird_

_I'll only fly away_

_I don't know where my soul is (soul is)_

_I don't know where my home is…”_

_ By** Nelly Furtado** _

**The Woodland Realm, 9th of December 2944 T.A.; late in the evening**

After dinner, Bard and Thranduil left their chambers for a short visit with Gildor and his family, then went back to the Healing Hall for an update. Turamarth’s and Evvy’s condition was the same, and their families still held out hope, but the family of Lidros, Keeper of the _Têwtham,_ was not as fortunate.

Legolas sat next to the bed, with his arm around the Elf’s mother and she wept. His father stood over his son and stroked his bandaged head as he whispered, his tears falling on the still, pale face.

“What happened?” the Elvenking whispered. “You held out some hope, earlier.”

“I said _we did not know; _there is a difference.” Ivárë ushered the Kings out into the hall in hushed tones, then said, “After his injury, Lidros had a seizure, and suffered from massive bleed in his brain. We tried, My Lord, but could not stop it in time.” Ivarë told them. Beneath her detached, professional veneer, the Healer’s eyes were crestfallen.

“Is there nothing be done?” dread grew in Thranduil’s stomach, as his eyes glanced to Evvy’s room.

The Mistress took his meaning, then urged them a few more steps away from the grieving family. “What Elrohir fears for the Galadhrim maiden, is the case for Lidros, I am sorry to say. “Even if he could survive, his brain is dead, and it is mercy that his organs are shutting down; there is nothing we can do except wait.”

“It is my fault,” came a voice behind them.

Thranduil and Bard turned around to see Legolas standing there, his face twisted with remorse.

_“Ion nîn, _it was Saeros who attacked him—”

“No, _Ada; _I insisted that Ivárë wake him up so we could ask him questions.” Legolas face was haggard, as struggled to meet his father’s eyes. “Ivárë warned me, and I should have listened. He did not tell us anything useful, and now he is dying because of me.”

The Elvenking hoped for a denial, but Ivárë clasped her hands together and remained silent.

“Mistress?”

“I wish I could say it did not contribute to Lidros’s current condition,” she replied honestly, “but I cannot say it would not have happened anyway.”

“No; I was impetuous, and I panicked,” Legolas rubbed his forehead with a shaky voice. “I—”

“I will leave you three to talk,” Ivárë bowed her head. “I must get back to the family.”

“Of course,” Thranduil nodded. “Thank you.” The Healer turned and left, but not before she gave the Prince’s upper arm a squeeze.

“This is the first time you have lost someone under your command?” Bard asked.

The Prince nodded slightly.

“Listen to me, son: your father will be the first one to tell you these things are a judgment call, and we cannot always predict what will happen. You acted with the best of motives, and there was no correct answer here.”

“That is what Captain Adamar said,” Legolas said grimly. “But I doubt Lidros’s parents would agree.”

_“Ai, Pînlass_ nîn,” Thranduil ached to see his son’s pain. “I wish I could tell you this gets easier, _,_ but it will not, and if you are a good and conscientious leader, it should not. If it helps, I would have done the same thing.” Thranduil cupped the back of his son’s head and urged him to meet his eyes. “I believe you did well, despite this.”

“His parents should know the truth.”

“No, _Ion Nîn; _it would only add to their anguish. If you want to do something for them, Bear this burden on their behalf.”

Legolas’s eyes reddened, and they shone with unshed tears, but his chin bobbed slightly in agreement. “I would like to stay with him, until the end.”

“They will appreciate it. Bard and I will go with you to offer our condolences, then after, if you need us, we will be in our chambers, do not worry about the time.”

“I will,” he said quietly. _“Ci athae,_ _Ada_.” The Prince took a moment to collect himself, then straightened his shoulders and entered the room.

“Will he be all right?” Bard asked him.

“He is his mother’s son,” Thranduil’s throat tightened with love and pride. “Of course, he will.”

***************

**Halls of Mandos**

Námo and Vairë had just welcomed Lidros to Mandos’ Halls, and the young Elf was led away by his sister, as she spoke softly to him. 

“Betrayal is the worst kind of pain, I think,” Vairë sighed. “I am happy you explained about Pallando, but I think it will take a while before Lidros can come to terms with it all. Do you think he can forgive Saeros?”

“I have no doubt Nienna will do her best. For now, I have instructed her to keep them apart, until he has a chance to settle. He was a kindly Elf in life; I do not think he will be here for long.”

“His thread was not full of the bold colors of action, _Melmenya. _Yet he lived a life that suited him. Soothing greens and blues, the same as his parents.”

“Not every Elf is destined for adventure,” Námo agreed. “But his _Fëa_ was happy; that does always happen, no matter what one’s calling. I like him.”

“So, do I,” Vairë patted his hand. “Do you need me for the next arrival? My work awaits me.”

“I do not think so,” he said, as he adjusted his crown. “Her case seems pretty cut and dried. Nienna will be here in a few moments.”

"Very well," The Weaver leaned over and kissed her husband, stepped down from the platform and exited the Hall.

At the far end of the pillared halls, the doors once again opened to admit a petite female Elf. She was blonde with large brown eyes, wearing a white robe. 

“Enter, Evranin, daughter of Ohtar and Vériel,” the jewels on his hands sparkled in the lamplight as he gestured for her to come forth.

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, as she followed her escort, her head turning to take in the dark splendor of the Hall. Evvy had almost reached the steps to climb onto the dais when an urgent voice called from the doorway.

“Wait! Wait, please!” Someone waved her arms and ran the length of the hall as fast as possible.

“What is this?” Námo scowled. “One does not simply walk into my Hall of Waiting—"

“I have leave to do so!” she held up a scroll. “Please; I must ask you to stop!"

Evvy’s jaw fell, and her eyes bulged. _“Naneth?” _her voice was still rough from the injuries to her windpipe.

“Yes, _Aewpin;_ it is me,” Vériel smiled and used the same governance she was gifted with in life to face the Lord of Mandos. “My Lord,” she bowed lowly and saluted. “I have received a message from the Lady of Light, and brought it before King Manwë himself—”

“And, naturally, he allowed this,” Námo’s hand covered his eyes. “Do not misunderstand me: I love Manwe; truly I do, but sometimes he can be guileless. He is so full of goodness that he cannot comprehend much of the darkness that lies within the Children of _Eru_. Ulmo and I begged him not to release Melkor from prison, but did he listen? Noooo! I thought Tulkas was going to lose it! 1 And thanks to all that, my Halls are filled to the rafters with _Fëanorians! AND their armies!_ How many times did I have to build more rooms?”

“Yes, yes, yes, my brother,” Nienna rushed into the chamber with an absent wave. “these good people do not need to hear you rehash old arguments.” She gracefully came to Evvy and took her hands. “Hello, dearest!” Then her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, look at your poor face! And are those bruises?”

Evvy stared into the lovely Vala’s sparkling eyes. “Why do you cry?”

“To help you,” Nienna took out her silver handkerchief, wiped her tears, which turned into shining diamonds, and she touched Evranin’s face with the silken cloth, and instantly the young _Elleth_ was restored to her normal self. “My, but you are lovely! Do you feel better?”

“Y-Yes,” the Elf murmured, as she touched her throat.

“Good. Now, will you introduce me to your mother?” Their heads turned to face the tall auburn-haired _Elleth_ whose face and filled out into the beauty she had been meant to have in life. “Greetings, Lady Vériel. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Wait!” Námo raised both hands, not happy that he was losing control of the room. “Am I welcoming this Elf into my Halls or not?”

“Not!” Vairë entered through the door behind the throne and held up another piece of wool that was changing colors even as they stood speaking. The Weaver held out her hand for the scroll. After reading through it, she nodded up to the throne. “Lady Vériel speaks true, my husband. Manwë wants the daughter of Óhtar to leave with her mother.”

“For what purpose? She is dead!”

“She is not dead, yet. Or at least, her body is not.” She held up the parchment. “Either way, she is not coming here.”

“This is highly unusual!”

“These are unusual times, my brother,” Nienna said smugly then winked at Evvy. “Do not worry about him; he just hates it when things like this happen.” She kissed both the _Elleth’s_ cheeks. “I have enjoyed meeting you very much; now, go with your mother, sweetling.

“Will I see you again?”

“You will not,” the Vala sighed. “But I will be watching over you, nonetheless.” She pressed something into Evvy’s hand. “This gift will bring you comfort.”

When the young _Elleth_ lifted her palm, she saw nothing. “What is it?”

“You will see.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” Evvy curtsied. After giving courtesy to the King and Queen of the Halls of Waiting, she turned and ran into her mother’s waiting arms.

“Thank you, My Lord,” Vériel saluted, then placed her hand on the small of Evvy’s back and led her out. 

“Lady Vériel?”

The _Elleth_ turned her head. “Yes, My Lord?”

“Please make sure she understands the truth.”

“I will,” she waved. “Thank you, again!”

Nienna climbed up the steps to stand next to her brother and sister-in-law as they listed to the whispered conversation

> _“However did you manage it, Nana?” Evvy whispered._
> 
> _“I still know how to get things done.” Vériel laughed softly. “Sometimes it still pays to be intimidating!”_
> 
> _“Where are we going?”_
> 
> _“You will see, Aewpin. Come along, now, before Lord Námo changes his mind!”_

“But…” Námo threw up his hands helplessly. “How…”

“Try not to sputter, dear,_”_ Vairë smiled patiently and patted his hand. “It is not regal.” 

***************

For once, Evvy was relieved that her mother took control of the situation. 

As the _Ellyth_ walked across the misty floor, she admired the beauty of this place and the workmanship of the many lamps that shone a warm light. “I thought this place would be frightening,” she murmured.

“I think that is what Lord Námo intends,” Vériel shrugged. “It prevents a great deal of impetuous behavior that results in death. I suppose, for those whose actions are truly evil, it _would_ be terrifying.”

“Like Saeros?” Evvy spat out his name.

“Hmmm... About that…”

“What about it?”

“We need to talk…”

Vériel took them through the Main Doors, but instead of the barren landscape from before, they were walking along a beach with snow-white sand, and in the far distance was a tall mountain range covered with trees.

“That,” she pointed to the mountain that stood head and shoulders above the rest, “is _Oiolossë,_ where King Manwë lives with Queen Varda.”

“Are we in Valinor?”

“More or less,” her _Naneth_ put her arm through Evvy’s and clasped her hands. “It is beautiful, is it not?”

“The sea is,” she said. “Is this what called you all those years?”

“It was, and now that I am here, I understand,” Vériel sighed. “This is where I belong. But I am thrilled at the chance to be with you!” she stepped back and held both her hands, as she looked up at down at her daughter. “You look wonderful, _Aewpin! _ You have changed!”

“I – before all this happened, rather – I _did_ change, _Nana_. I am… proud of myself!”

“As you should be! You have done well in the Woodland Realm and made many new friends, have you not? I am told everyone thinks highly of you.”

“It is true; I liked the ‘me’ I became there… but not everyone who seemed friendly was really my friend. There was one Elf named Saeros, and he—”

“I know, _hênig._” Vériel traced her hairline with her fingertips. “But you should know that things with Saeros were not what they seemed.”

“But he murdered his parents!” Evvy stepped backward and shrugged off her mother’s touch. “And he bragged about it, _Nana!” _

“And for that reason, he is to remain in the Halls of Mandos forever.”

“Could somebody tell his parents what happened to him?”

“They know, child.”

“You have met them?”

“They will not be coming to Valinor,” Vériel told her. “They have asked to remain and live out their existence with their son.”

Evvy was dumbfounded. “But why?”

_“Iellig,” _Vériel’s voice was gentle. “What is the very last thing you remember?”

She searched her memory. “Saeros was about to stab Turamarth… I knocked him off, and the knife…” Evvy’s eyes closed as her senses relived the last few moments of her life. The distant echoes of raised, frantic voices… the memory of hands upon her throat…

> _(I cannot breathe… I cannot breathe…)_
> 
> _Her heart pounded against her ribcage as lungs begged for air, but Saeros was straddled across her chest with and laughed as he tightened his grip._
> 
> _“Huil pen-channas!” Saeros snarled. “You should have left well enough alone.”_
> 
> _Desperate, she reached up, scratched his cheeks and rammed her thumbs hard into his eye sockets._
> 
> _“NAEG!” Saeros howled let go and grabbed his face. _
> 
> _(Oh, praise the Valar… air… air…) she inhaled as her lungs roughly expanded. _
> 
> _With a roar of rage, he grabbed her windpipe with one hand and squeezed. She grunted in agony, but when she touched his hand to pry it off, her fingers found something cold and hard. Her hand went completely numb, and she had no control over her fingers. _
> 
> _Evvy was going to die. _
> 
> _There was a noise to her right. Turamarth was scrambling to save her in time, when Saeros suddenly let go and looked up as a terrible, deafening groan rumbled throughout the cave._
> 
> _ _
> 
> _Above her, Saeros looked up. Evvy looked up. Vildan shouted something and grabbed at Tur. Somewhere in all that, King Thranduil screamed out an order to save the children._
> 
> _(Please let the children be safe, please let the children be safe, save them save them save—)_
> 
> _Suddenly, there was air, blessed air. Saeros shook his head, released his grip and stared at his hand as if it were some foreign object. The rage left his eyes and was replaced with confusion, regret and horror._
> 
> _“Evvy? I—“ _
> 
> _That was all he managed to say, before the world fell on top of them. _
> 
> _She opened her mouth to scream, but shock of the bitter-cold filled her lungs with water. Her body violently convulsed as a thousand icy knives pierced her flesh, and she was wracked with pain like she never thought was possible._
> 
> _Slowly, what little light there was dimmed into blackness, and she knew nothing more…_

Evranin came back to herself and shivered. Tears soaked her face as she crossed her arms over herself. “I was so, so cold… And it hurt, _Nana._ Oh, how it hurt…”

”Shhh…” her mother’s warm comforting arms slowly made the memories bearable. “Come with me.” Vériel led them off the warm sand to a small patch of grass. She sat them down, and said, “You were brave to think of the children, and to pray to Galadriel.”

“They were freezing to death… Was it she who warmed the pallet they were on?”

“It was,” Vériel smiled. “Oh, I am so proud of you!” You found your courage, and fought to the last.”

“I told him I did not hate him; that I felt sorry for him,” she recalled, and winced at the memory. “On the ice, I scratched him and then he grabbed my…” she ran her hand over the front of her throat. “He was crushing my windpipe; I could not breathe.”

“Then what happened?” Vériel urged, “Think carefully.”

“Everyone was shouting, and the noise weakened the ice on the ceiling…”

“And he stopped; he hesitated, for just a moment, did he not? This is very important, _hênig,” _Vériel pulled back and held her gaze. “Something about him had changed, yes?”

“He tried to say something…It was just a split second, but he looked… bewildered, and upset.”

“Exactly!” Vériel said proudly. “You did it!”

”I do not understand…”

“No, but you will. To begin with, Saeros was _not_ the root cause of all that took place; he was just as much a prisoner of this evil as you all were. And you have encountered it before.”

“When?”

Vériel inclined her head patiently. “Search your heart, Evvy; the atmosphere in that cave felt familiar, did it not?”

Evvy took a deep breath and rubbed her fingers across her lips as she searched her memory. “I remember thinking that the air in there held the same heaviness as in the Golden Wood, when… Oh!” her eyes widened. “But how?”

“That is a story…” Vériel put her arm around her and drew her close, and shared a tale so tragic, that they were both in tears at the end. 

“Oh, that sadistic monster!” Evvy wiped her eyes. “He was just a child! A child! What a waste of a life! Poor Saeros!”

“But his story will not end there, thanks to my brave, beautiful daughter,” Vériel stroked her hair to soothe her. “You brought him back to himself, before he died.”

“Yes, but only for a few seconds—”

_“Those few seconds _was what caught Nienna’s attention, do you not see? She was not convinced of the truth until you prompted that change in his _Fëa_, and praise the Valar you managed it, just in time!”

“‘In time’ for what?”

“Lord Námo was seconds away from casting him into the Void with Pallando.”

Evranin’s gasped. “Oh, no!”

“_You saved him_, my daughter! Your compassion, your caring, and,” Vériel beamed, “your strength, set him free. We are all so proud of you!”

“Oh, _Nana_…” It was too much. Evvy clapped her hand over her mouth as her vision swam. The kidnapping, the terror, Saeros’s cruel words, the cold... And Turamarth! lt was too much to contain. Her body shook with sobs, her tears soaked her mother’s dress, yet Vériel only held her tight and let her cry herself out.

After what seemed like hours, she settled down. When she could speak again, she asked, “Does Saeros understand what happened?”

“He does, and he is more grateful than he could express. His parents are, as well.”

“Is that why I was allowed to go with you?”

“Oh, that,” Vériel chuckled. “I wanted to be the one to tell you, and,” she winked, “I never _could_ take no for an answer.”

“I remember,” she giggled.

“The gift that Nienna gave you was from Saeros, you know.”

“Really?” Evvy held out her empty palm. “I still cannot see it.”

“I have seen it, and it is exquisite”

“But, how would he have time to make anything?”” Evvy brows scrunched together. “He died in the same moment I did!”

Vériel’s grin was mischievous. “Time is not the same, here.”

“Oh…” she took in a huge breath of the clean, sea air. “It is so beautiful; so peaceful.”

“Come; let me take you to my home,” Vériel gracefully got to her feet and pulled her up beside her. _“_There is someone I would like you to meet.”

“Oh, yes!”

They walked arm in arm through the grass, and Evvy marveled at the change in her mother. Vériel was always outwardly beautiful, but now that her _fëa _sang openly, she was one of the loveliest creatures Evvy had ever seen.

They walked along a curved stone path lined with flowers that led to upon a lovely little cottage on an embankment that overlooked the water. More flowers peeked out from cheerful window boxes under blue awnings, and there was delightful small garden with a fountain next to a stone terrace that looked over the water where several comfortable chairs were gathered.

“What do you think, _Aewpin?”_

“It is wonderful!_” _Evvy laughed. “I never pictured you in a cottage, but it’s perfect.”

_“_“You are back, _Meleth nîn!” _the front door opened, and a tall, handsome Elf with long blonde hair and a welcoming smile stepped off the porch and approached them.

“I am, _Hervenn nîn_.” Vériel stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “And I brought our guest.”

“This is Evranin?” the _Ellon_ grinned, and saluted. _“Mae govannen,”_ he said, then her hand in both of his. “I am truly sorry for what you were put through, child, but I am glad for the chance to meet you. You and your brother are all she talks about; I feel like I know you already!”

“I am sorry, but I…” Evvy smiled tentatively, as the surprise sunk in, then, she gasped. “You are the Warden _Nana_ lost so long ago!” she blurted out. “She told us about you!” 2

“So, I have heard,” his smile was utterly charming, “My name is Malach, and yes, I knew and loved your mother a very long time ago.” His grey eyes were filled with affection, as they rested on Vériel. “I never stopped. And I thank _Eru_ for our second chance.”

“He was waiting for me when I arrived,” Vériel slipped her arm around his waist. “I was swept up in his arms and we married soon after.”

“My wife wanted to live by the water, so I built her this cottage, and we have been living here in bliss ever since.” Malach was tall and muscular with a kind, handsome face that laughed easily. “But where are my manners?” the _Ellon_ turned her around. “Come in and relax; I have made us all dinner, and later we will sit on the terrace watch the moon rise over the water.”

“That sounds lovely.” Evvy followed her new stepfather into the house. It was open and cozy with simple and comfortable furniture. There was a small hall that held two bedrooms and a bathing room, and the kitchen was well-equipped and neat. Candlelight bathed the white walls in a soft, warm glow, and a vase of bright flowers decorated the round table that was set and ready to serve.

Malach pulled out the chairs for Evvy and his wife, and then brought them bowls heaped with a salad, vegetables and a lovely fish grilled with lemon and butter. He opened a bottle of wine and took his seat.

“I hope the meal is to your liking,” he said, as he poured her a glass. “I caught the fish this morning. Your mother was told you were coming, and we wanted to make sure this was a real celebration.”

“I am sure it will be delicious,” Evvy pulled the napkin into her lap, as he served it up. When she lifted her fork and took a bite of the fish, she hummed with delight. “It is wonderful!”

“Good,” he laughed. “You have had a big day, Evvy,” he held up his glass, to make a toast. “To my new wife,” he smiled at Vériel, “and her lovely daughter. I hope you and I will be great friends. To family!”

“To family!” they clinked glasses and drank. 

The meal was almost as wonderful as the company, and they lingered long after Malach had cleared their plates. The _Ellon _had a wonderful sense of humor, and Evvy had never seen her mother laugh so much! This was Vériel as she always should have been, with eyes that sparkled, a pale blush to her cheeks, and a smile full of affection.

Just after Vériel served dessert, a delicious pear torte, Malach grew a serious. “I want you to know,” his hand covered Evvy’s, “I respect your _Adar, _for his care and devotion to your _Naneth, _and would never do anything to dim your memory of him. I am in hopes that one day, he and I can meet and be friends.”

“I hope so, too. He told me hoped _Nana_ would find happiness with you.”

“He will find the same happiness for himself,” Malach reached over and kissed his wife’s hand. 

“He will?”

“Yes, and I wish him every joy, for no one is more deserving.” Vériel said serenely. “Someday, we will all be together, and it will be a wonderful party! Malach’s nephew will be coming to visit us, soon,” Vériel’s smile was mischievous.

“Oh? Do I know him?”

“You did,” Malach smirked. “Actually, he is my second great-nephew. But yes, in life, you and he were friends.” 

There _was something _slightly familiar about her stepfather’s features…. “Mahtan?” she squealed. “He is your nephew?”

“He is. We are not sure when he will arrive, but it will be soon.”

“I cannot wait!” Evvy clapped her hands and laughed, then saw Vériel and Malach exchange glances.

“What?” Her head moved back and forth between them.

“It is time to for us to go watch the moonrise, _Hênig,” _Vériel rose and picked up her glass.

“But I will be happy to help with the dishes,” she offered, as Malach pulled her chair out for her.

“Nonsense,” the _Ellon_ was kind. “You are a special guest, and my wife and I will clean up after. A moonrise in Valinor is a beautiful sight; you do not want to miss it.” He stood and picked up the bottle. “Bring your glass; we will enjoy our drinks on the terrace.”

Her mother gently guided her to a comfortable lounge chair that faced the sea and covered her with a light blanket. “I am so happy, Evvy,” she caressed her cheek. 

“I will be happy here, too, will I not?”

“Yes.” Vériel told her, gently. “You will have a wonderful home and delight in your days. We will visit each other often, and enjoy all the festivals…”

“But not now.”

“No, my darling girl, not now. But seeing you, helping you, has been such a gift…” her voice wavered. “My little bird’s broken wings have finally mended. As much as I hate to let you go, you deserve a chance to see what wonderful things await you. And oh, what a life you will have!”

“Really?”

“Really.” Vériel’s soft hands held her face. “But first, I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” She rested her hands on Vériel’s wrists.

“I worry for your father, Evvy. He suffers more than he admits, and has not adjusted well. The shock from your kidnapping might be too much.”

“Does he still love you?” Evvy chest contracted. 

“He thinks he does, but it is only loneliness. Now that you are stronger, I must ask you and Orlin to look after him, for a while.”

“Poor, Ada!” Her chest tightened. “I should not have left him…”

“No, child; if you had stayed, you could not help him now. And,” Vériel lifted her chin and smiled into her eyes, “you could not have saved Saeros. These were things you were meant to do.” Vériel’s eyes sparkled with happy tears. “Oh! I have loved this time with you, my Little Bird.” Soft, warm lips pressed against her temple. “Please, give your father and brother my love?”

“I will, _Nana_,” Evvy relaxed into her mother’s embrace. “I love you, too.”

“I look forward to seeing you again, Evranin.” Malach filled her glass with wine. “You will always be welcome here. Bring your husband and children next time; we will have a picnic under the stars.”

“I promise,” Evvy took a drink, leaned her head against the cushion and gazed out at the water. Anor’s daily journey across the sky was over, but the sky was still painted in deep reds and blues, that reflected off the clouds. 3

“It is lovely…” Then Evvy finally found the courage to ask what was truly on her mind. “_Nana_?”

“Yes, _Iellig?”_

“Will I marry Tur?”

“Do you love him?”

“I do.”

“If you wait until the time is right, you will both be very happy.”

“But when will that be?” She couldn’t hold back a yawn. “He has been badly hurt, and I do not know how to help him.”

“Ask Lady of Light for guidance, child,” Vériel’s voice grew softer as the sunlight faded. “She will be as your mother, until we meet again.”

“All right,” Evvy’s eyes drooped then she remembered something. “What was Saeros’s gift, _Nana_?”

“You will see…” Vériel’s voice echoed in her mind, as Tilion brought _Ithil_ into the night sky, and she was bathed in silvery light. 4

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Aewpin_ – Little Bird

_Iellig vuin_ – Beloved daughter

_Melmenya_ – (Q.) My love

_Vennya_ – (Q.) My husband

**NOTES:**

[1] _The Silmarillion, _Ch. 6; _“Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor”:_ “For Manwë was free from evil and could not comprehend it, and he knew that in the beginning, in the thought of Ilúvatar, Melkor had been even as he; and he saw not to the depths of Melkor’s heart, and did not perceive that all love had departed from him for ever. But Ulmo was not deceived, and Tulkas clenched his hands whenever he saw Melkor his foe go by; for if Tulkas is slow to wrath he is slow also to forget. But they obeyed the judgement of Manwë; for those who will defend authority against rebellion must not themselves rebel.”

[2] _Legolas, Ion nîn;_ Ch. 33: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/46069903>

[3] <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Sun>

[4] <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Moon>


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil reflects on the last few years with Bard. Evvy is still unconscious, but she shows some improvement. Daeron still worries about Tur; why won’t he wake up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Trigger Warning*** - Descriptions of sexual assault.

_“You know you're everything to me_

_And I could never see, the two of us apart_

_And you know I give myself to you_

_And no matter what you do, I promise you my heart_

_I've built my world around you and I want you to know_

_I need you, like I've never needed anyone before…”_

** _ I Live My Life for You,  _ ** _ by** Firehouse** _

* * *

**The Woodland Realm, 12th of December 2944 T.A.**

Bard woke slowly, snuggling into his husband’s side with a contented sigh. Thranduil was on his back, and when he opened his eyes, he observed the lines around his Elf’s mouth deepen as he stared up at the stars in the ceiling of their bedchamber. 

“Morning, love,” he kissed the smooth pale flesh over the Elvenking’s heart. “What’s got you thinking?”

“It will be our anniversary, soon,” Thranduil raised his hand and ran his fingers through Bard’s thick waves. “These three years have been the fullest of my life.”

“It’s no wonder; living with humans might have something to do with it. We tend to cram a lot of living into our short, Mortal lives.” Bard rested his chin on the Elf’s chest and caressed his shoulder. “It’s been a whirlwind, since I became King; I can only imagine how it must be to you Elves.”

“I would describe it as a tornado,” Thranduil sighed, then lifted his head to meet Bard’s eyes. “But that does not mean I am unhappy, Bard; I just worry.”

“Why?”

“You asked me once if our lives will always be this tumultuous, remember?”

“I do,” a chuckle rose from his chest. “We agreed it was a toss-up which would cause more chaos: our lives as fathers, or as Kings.”[1] Bard leaned back and stretched his arms over his head with a satisfied groan. He and his Elf had enjoyed their time alone in the Palace; particularly the nights, and even with his new strength and stamina, their lovemaking left him a bit stiff and sore in the mornings. The Bowman made ready to roll over and get out of bed but stopped when the concern on Thranduil’s face didn’t dissipate. “What is it?”

“Think about it, _Meleth nîn,” _the Elvenking pushed himself up until he was sitting against the carved wooden headboard and began to count on his fingers. “After we had the big fight in the Garden, Mithrandir confirmed there was an evil spirit at work in Iola, then it went after you. Then Dale was attacked by Jarod, who we now know was a _Thrall, _who was doing the bidding of the Dark Lord. Then my cousin’s land was invaded by the Blue Wizard, who turned out to be a Sauron’s servant, and now I discover an Elf in _my Palace_ possessed a Magic ring! How did Saeros get such a thing?”

“And what if there are others lying around, waiting to be possessed?” Bard finished his thought.

“Well, more like waiting to possess, but yes! How do we protect ourselves and our people from such things?”

Bard inhaled and blew out his breath between pursed lips. “I hear what you’re saying, love. For now, all we can do is keep on trying and not give up, yeah? What more could you and I do, that we’re not already doing?”

“Nothing,” Thranduil’s mouth thinned into an impatient line, “I suppose we could try to be more aware of such things.”

“But there are two things we can keep in mind,” Bard leaned over and kissed Thranduil softly. “First, Sauron was only banished from the North three years ago, and there are bound to be remnants of his work around, don’t you think? Maybe as time goes on, this will be taken care of as your Forest has a chance to rest and recuperate from the his presence in Dol Guldur.”

“Perhaps,” the Elvenking’s brows drew together, making the little furrow between them that Bard loved so much. “But suppose it does not?”

“Then we should be prepared. If there is to be a Great War, it stands to reason Dol Guldur won’t be empty forever. Or, as the time draws near, Sauron will try harder and be more devious. He knows what we’re doing up here to ensure our victory, and he doesn’t like it.”

“That is… what I fear, Bard.” Thranduil said, softly.

“We all do. But forewarned is forearmed, yeah? When we get back to Dale, why don’t we meet with Daín and talk about this? These would be good questions for Gandalf, if he can come. But in the meantime, you and I need to rely on the power of love, for each other and our people. We need to remember we’ve got the Valar and _Eru_ on our side and those are good friends to have. We mustn’t give up hope, right?” Bard leaned his head to meet Thranduil’s downcast gaze and lifted one side of his mouth. “Right?”

The tension in the Elf’s face slowly dissipated and was replaced with a small smile. “I love you, Bard. You always know the right thing to say.”

“Oh, not always, except this: I love you, too.” Bard kissed him softly.

“Perhaps we will hear from Mithrandir today.”

“Hope so,” Bard stretched again and climbed out of bed. “But for now, we will get a good breakfast, then see what’s going on with Evvy and Tur, and visit with Lidros’s family, and help the family with the funeral arrangements. I’m going to have to get back to Dale sooner or later, but I want to be there for you and Legolas.”

“Thank you, _Meleth nîn_,” the Elvenking pushed back his blankets and rose to his feet. “It might be a good idea to wait until we hear from Mithrandir.”

“I doubt I’d be much help,” he shrugged. “I don’t possess any sort of magic to help you get rid of that thing.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Thranduil cupped the back of Bard’s head and drew their foreheads together. “You enchanted a certain Elvenking.”

“Oh, right,” Bard snickered, as he gazed up into his husband’s pale grey eyes. “Me and my scraggy clothes, grubby hair, exhausted and hungry…”

“And eyes the color of the Forest I love,” the Elf whispered into his ear, “and do not forget your extraordinary Archery skills.” He ran his fingers along Bard’s jaw. “I would say your ‘aim’ is excellent, Bowman.”

“Oh, please,” Bard rolled his eyes and laughed, as he yanked his Elf toward the closet to dress. “Come on; there’s a plate of eggs and cheese with my name on it, and I want to have Legolas join us. He still looks tired, and I don’t think he’s eaten much since all this happened.”

After the Kings dressed, and after Bard made sure their Elven son ate a substantial breakfast, the three of them, traveled through the halls and walkways until they reached the door of Lidros’s apartment. 

Gereth and Naires were seated on the sofa, surrounded by a several friends, and there was plenty of food and drink for anyone who wished to come and pay their respects. 

“Please; sit,” Thranduil waved the couple back down. “Have you gotten any rest?”

“Mistress Ivárë insisted upon a _losta-luith,_ My Lord. And Captain Adamar and Lady Idril sent along the food,” the _Ellon_ had his arm around his wife, “though it is hard to have an appetite.”

Thranduil nodded his head in empathy, “I am truly sorry for your loss, _Mellyn nin.”_

“Why would Saeros do this?” Naires started to cry, and the soaked handkerchief in her hand indicated it was not the first time this morning. “I thought they were friends!”

“Lord Bard and I are investigating this matter thoroughly, and we will be sure to share what we discover with you. In the meantime, though it is of little comfort, please lean on your good friends, and know every Elf in the Palace sends their condolences. Have you decided when you would like the _Laer Gurth _to take place?”

In the next several minutes, the arrangements were made to sing Lidro’s _Fëa_ into the Halls of Waiting three days hence, under a particular Elm tree he liked to climb as a child and visited often in his adulthood.

“Just a simple ceremony, please, My Lord; Lidros would dislike extravagance.”

“Very well,” Thranduil rose from his chair placed his hands on the couple’s heads and blessed them, saying, _“Hiro hîdh neñ gurth Lidros, Ion I Gereth a Naires.”_

“_De fael_, _Aran nîn.”_ Gereth rose to walk them to the door, but he shook his head, and waved him down again. “See to your beloved wife, _Brannon nîn_. _Brennil mail_,” he kissed Naires’s hand, and after saluting them, he and Bard turned to go.

Legolas set his hand on Thranduil’s arm and whispered, “I would like to stay, _Adar.”_

But Thranduil shook his head and discreetly motioned for the Elven Prince to follow them out of the apartment. Once they had walked some distance away, he placed his hand on Legolas’s shoulder. “I admire your dedication - it speaks of the noblest of intentions – but Gereth and Naires need the support of their friends much more than they need us.”

“But do they not trust us?” Legolas’s face crinkled in confusion.

“It is not a matter of trust, _Ion nîn;_ it is a matter of privacy, to grieve fully. If one of us were to remain, they would become uncomfortable.”

“They shouldn’t have to feel “on” for anyone, right now, is that what you’re saying?” Bard asked.

“Exactly,” the Elvenking said. “The best way we can help them is to find the answers to all this.”

“I have gone over the reports several times,” the Elven Prince exhaled. 

“As have I, but the only one who can tell us more is Evranin, so we shall continue to pray she will get well.”

The trio made their way to the Healing Hall, and found Daeron standing over Evranin, with a pensive expression on his face as he examined her.

“Has there been any change?” Bard asked him.

“She continues to breathe on her own, yes…” he murmured.

“What is happening?” Thranduil and Bard came to the other side of her bed.

“I want to be sure before I say anything. Did you happen to see Ivárë in the hall?”

“I can get her,” Legolas stepped out, only to return with the Mistress a few minutes later.

“What is it?” she asked briskly.

“Come see for yourself,” Daeron urged. 

Ivárë put their hands on the sleeping _Elleth_ and froze with concentration. A slow smile spread across her face. “It is weak, and very faint,” Ivárë said softly, “but I believe she is near.”

“May I?” Thranduil asked.

“Of course, My Lord.”

The Elvenking walked around Daeron and placed his hands on her head, closed his eyes, began to sing, and was soon joined by Ivárë and Daeron. 

Bard stared at his husband in fascination as the song rose from their bowed heads. He could almost “see” the melody, as it floated around the room in delightful waves bringing healing and hope to all who heard it. He glanced over at his stepson, whose shoulders had relaxed. 

When the song ended, the King and the Healers opened their eyes, and smiled down at the patient, whose chest was rising and falling with deeper breaths, and the color was returning to her lovely face. The spray of freckles across her nose did not stand out so much, and her lips no longer were white. 

“That was lovely,” Bard said quietly. “Was it a healing song?”

“Yes,” Ivárë told him. “We were calling to her _fëa,_ asking her to return to us.”

“Did she answer?”

“She is here, again,” Daeron said, his voice shaky with emotion. “Evvy is now in a deep sleep, and may be for several more days, but she will awake.”

Legolas closed his eyes and threw his head back in relief and gratitude. _“__Na vedui! De fael a vilui, Belain,” _he murmured.

Bard clapped the young Elf on the back. “My thoughts exactly.”

“How is Tur, today?” Thranduil asked.

Daeron’s face blanched. “I am afraid he is doing worse, My Lord.”

“Why did no one call me?” Thranduil asked. “What is happening?”

Ivárë walked around the bed to stand beside the Guardian. “My Lord, for some unknown reason, he has sunk deeper into his Healing Sleep than I have ever seen.”

“Did he…” Bard gestured to Evvy.

“Did his _fëa_ leave his body?”

Ivárë shook her head. “I do not believe so, but if his vital signs grow fainter, it well might.”

“Why did you not tell me, _Mellon?”_ Thranduil gently put his arm around Daeron’s shoulders. 

“We only noticed the difference an hour or so ago, and you were with Lidros’s parents,” Daeron told him. “I was reluctant to even admit it to myself, if I am honest.”

“Who is with him, now?”

“My own parents; _Ada_ made _Tîrana a Tôrana _go get some sleep; they are exhausted.”

“Have you told them?”

Daeron shook his head. “I am hoping this is only temporary.”

“Come,” Thranduil ushered him out of the room and into the hall, with Bard and Legolas close behind.

The room was softly lit; this side of the hall faced the Palace, so there were no windows to add light, but several scented candles brought a warm relaxing atmosphere to the room. Turamarth remained silent and still, but the change in him was immediately apparent; his condition had deteriorated. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and there was a strained expression to his face.

“Does he still have his necklace?”

“He does, My Lord,” Idril reached underneath his white gown and took out the sparkling yellow _Gîl-Naur__._

“He looks like he is wrestling with something,” Bard observed. 

“He may well be,” Daeron said, sadly. “I had greatly feared his encounter with Saeros’s ring might cause a setback, but this…”

“Is there nothing to be done?” Legolas asked.

“We are doing it,” Adamar told them. “Holding his hands, speaking to him about his life here with us, and,” the Captain swallowed, “pouring out as much love as we can give him.”

“Then we won’t give up,” Bard patted Idril’s shoulder. “Please excuse me.”

“Where did you go?” Thranduil asked him later, when he returned to their chambers.

“I sent for Rhian and Darryn.”

“That is well; Tur is her brother and good friend. She will want to help.”

“Aye; and,” Bard heaved a sigh, “should the worst happen, the entire family should be together.”

***************

_No; please! _Tur closed his eyes tight and tried to fight the dream._ Do not make me do this!_

_ _

But it was happening all over again. The same, dark forest, the same paths, the same rocks, bushes and plants.

The same violent fury exploding in his chest, the same desire to dominate to control, _to take without asking._

_The same horrifying pleasure..._

And there was Evvy, dressed in flowing white, running ahead of him in bare feet, and glancing over her shoulder at him with terror on her face as the wind lifted her long ash-blonde hair.

“Help me!” she cried. “Please, someone help me!”

Tur clamped down his jaw, grinding his teeth together to prevent the words from escaping him, yet still, when he caught up with her and grabbed her by the hair, he said, “Scream all you like; no one will hear you.”

Was it a dream? The ground under his feet was solid, as was the warmth of Evvy’s flesh under his hands. When he slapped her, the sting in his palm was real, and her painful cries hurt his ears.

And he was so, cold his insides shook

_No, no, no, no… This is not me, this is not me, this is not me…_

“Let me go!” she struggled in his arms. “Please, Turamarth; you are hurting me!”

And he was. 

But he was forced to hurt her even more, he threw her to the ground, held her down and assaulted her, all the while staring into deep brown eyes stared up at him, full of agony and hurt at his betrayal. Tur cried with disgust at himself, as his body took her, and each time he climaxed, he was forced to watch her eyes change to dull, opaque grey, as her beautiful _fëa_ shriveled inside before it left her lifeless body. 2

Again.

Each time, a piece of his own _fëa_ fell away, replace by shadow. Each time, this dark power stole what was good and kind in Tur, replacing it with the same evil to which Pallando had condemned him.

Once again, he knelt over her body, weeping; his skin crawling with self-loathing and disgust beyond imagination, begging, _“Díheno nin… Díheno nin…”_

And the cycle of the dream would start again.

_Enough. If I cannot end this, then I must end myself…_

Turamarth checked himself for any weapons and found the same small knife in his boot he normally carried, but when he tried to pull it out, the force controlling his body and voice took over. He strained against it with all his might, and this time, his hand managed to stay in mid-air, though he was shaking from the effort.

_Help me,_ he prayed. _Please, help me…_

His jaw began to move as did his tongue, and though it his words were hardly understandable, he managed to sing:

_“A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon sí di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!”_

Ever so slowly, the Black grip on him loosened, and his fingers grasped the handle of his blade and pulled it out. _“Sí_ _di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos…” _he murmered again. “Save me from this horror which is worse than death, Queen of the Stars, and I beg you to speed my way to the Halls of Waiting…”

He prayed and sang as he slowly lifted the blade along his body to reach his chest. A quick stab to his heart would be a swift end and he would be free of this Black Breath that had once again claimed his soul. 

He tightened his grip and took his final breath.

Something stopped his blade.

_Oh, no; please, not again, not again, not again…_

The hilt of his of his knife was caught on something.

His necklace. 

The chain bearing his _Gîl-Naur_ was pulled from underneath his tunic and brought out to the light. 

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon sí di-nguruthos, _he prayed again and his hands steadied as he gained more control over his movements.

Yet the dark, malicious entity lingered, remained, and suddenly attacked Tur with renewed force.

“Why are you doing this? Please, stop!”

On the ground Evvy lay in a crumpled heap, her face covered with marks made from his hands. Her gown had been torn to shreds her exposed breasts heaving with sobs.

_Please help me stop this nightmare… _He gripped his knife tighter. _ A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel—_

Hands grabbed both his wrists and pulled the knife away.

“Be not so quick to end your life, Guardian.” Behind him, a soft whisper reached his ears.

Surprised, Turamarth tried to turn around, but he was still fighting against the Black.

Slowly, a shimmering figure came around him and to his left. The tall _Elleth _had silver hair that fell to her waist, dressed in a gown of midnight blue trimmed with yellow jewels and gold embroidery.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She gave him no answer, but turned toward the scene before them, raised her hands and began to chant in Quenya.

The heaviness that had trapped Turamarth in its suffocating grip slowly loosened and he gratefully took several deep breaths, as the tension flowed from his body.

The cries of distress died down, until Evvy was silent. The mysterious _Elleth_ continued to chant, as the bruised and bleeding body became transparent and eventually faded into nothingness. At last Tur’s body broke free from the darkness, and his feet moved backward to distance himself, because now the Black was now a visible, formless figure that towered over the silver haired _Ellon._ Her voice rose, as did her arms, and with a commanding tone, she banished the evil spirit once and for all. The darkness exploded against the blue sky and slowly disappeared.

A fresh, warm breeze swept past Turamarth, and washed away the last remnants of darkness, and clouds parted, the light shone through the trees that were once more green and good. Tur fell to his knees his back hunched over, as his lungs took in huge gulps of the free air. Warmth seeped into his fingers and toes almost painfully, as it chased away the icy chill, and slowly traveled up his arms and legs. Oh, finally his insides stopped shaking, and closed his eyes and sighed with relief as the heat sank into his bones. 

A warm hand was on his back. “Are you well, Guardian?” the soft voice of the _Elleth_ asked with concern.

“I… I am getting there, My Lady.” He rubbed his hands over his face and sat up straight. “Thank you. I am more grateful than I can say for your help, but… I do not deserve it, after committing such a despicable act.”

Smooth fingers stroked his hair then pulled his hands away from his face. She lifted his chin slowly until his greenish eyes meet her beautiful grey ones.

“Wh… Who are you, if I may ask?”

“You called you called me.”

“Are you Queen Varda?”

“No, child,” She pointed to the yellow diamond pendant hanging around his neck. “It was I who first wore the Sun-Star, and my last act on the shores of Middle Earth was to fill it with my compassion for the One who would suffer the same wounds as I. I see my mother fulfilled her promise to me.” 3

Turamarth scrambled to his feet in reverence. “You are the Lady Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn!” 

The _Elleth_ possessed her father’s thick silver hair and clear grey eyes, but face, the warm smile and the wise, powerful countenance resembled her mother. She was, in Tur’s opinion, every bit as beautiful as Galadriel.

The Elf bowed his head with a formal salute. “I am honored, My Lady.” He picked up the chain and made to remove the jewel. “This should be given back to you.”

Celebrian placed her hands on his wrists and forced him to stop. “No, Turamarth, son of Ómar; it has passed to you, now. I have no need of it, for I dwell in the Blessed Lands where there is healing, where the memory of past wounds have faded.”

Tur swallowed, almost afraid to ask. “I do not understand why I deserve this, My Lady; it was I who caused offense, I am the one who—”

“Do you not yet understand?” she cupped his cheek. “You have dedicated your life to protecting others and had the situation been reversed you would gladly have suffered on Evranin’s behalf. But to force you to execute acts that cause such fatal wounds is the worst, most cruel injury the Blue Wizard could have inflicted. You are as much the victim as I was, and you have no cause to be ashamed.” She tilted her head and found his eyes, once more. “Did Rhian not tell you this?”

“She did, and I was learning to accept it, but now…” his heart ached, and his limbs were heavy with fatigue. “What happened? I had worked so hard to overcome all of it, then…”

Celebrian led him over to a large boulder and sat him down. “You fought with the _Ellon_ to save Evranin.”

“I did,” he sighed. “Is Evvy going to be all right?”

“She is on a journey of her own, to be sure,” Celebrian told him. “You both will need time to recover, and neither one of you must rush things,” she lifted an eyebrow and said, firmly. “If you are patient with yourselves and each other, your dreams will come true, do you understand?”

“I love her, My Lady,” his chin bobbed up and down slightly, “but after this… I do not know how I can…”

“Turamarth,” her brow furrowed with concern. “There is more to this terrible incident than you realize. Though some of it might be difficult to hear, you must understand all if it, or you will not fully heal.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you not guess why you were forced to relive the same attack you experienced in Lothlórien?”

He blinked and narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said faintly. “I… was in the water, trying to find Evvy… then I was here… and,” dread and anxiety filled him again, “and I was hurting her… I tried to stop…_Ai gorgor,_ I tried so hard to—”

“Turamarth!” she put her hands on his shoulders and shook him. “Do not allow your mind to go to that place; _never again_ will you have to relive it, do you understand?” she grabbed the nape of his neck, “I have banished the spirit, and the memory _will haunt you no more._ Tell me you believe it!”

“I… will not feel myself doing… ever again?”

“Never, child. It is true those wounds have been ripped open again, but they _will_ heal, do you understand me?”

He forced the lump down in his throat and slowly blew out his breath. “I do.”

“Very well. It will become easier in time. I arrived to save you _at the end _of this ordeal, so we do not need to speak of it again. However, I need you to tell me what started it all.” the Lady released him and sat back. “What do you remember, child?”

“We were trying to save her and two children…” Turamarth recounted the many details about that day, from their discovery of the tunnels, to the waterfall, then Saeros’s demands that he came in alone and unarmed.

“He struck her, and I had to do something! I got hold of him, and once I had him on the ground – or on the ice, rather – I called for the others to come help.”

“This Elf was surprisingly strong, yes?”

Tur’s spine straightened. “Yes!” he suddenly recalled. “And when I put my hands over his to loosen his grip on the knife…”

“You felt something, did you not?”

He nodded dumbly. “Why do you ask, My Lady?”

“Because the Evil that attacked you and the others, also came from the one called Pallando. It recognized you from the Golden Wood.”

“But Pallando is dead! Your mother, father and husband, helped Mithrandir destroy him!”

“The Blue Wizard is truly dead, yes, and his soul will forever drift in the Void. Yet Pallando allowed himself to be seduced by the Dark Lord, and he dwelt in Dol Guldur for many years, and found ways to practice his malevolence, his evil lingered in that ring, and you are not the only one who was hurt by him.”

“Who else?”

She reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Turamarth,” she said gently, “Saeros was also forced perpetrated violent acts at the behest of a power too strong for him to resist.”

The Guardian’s upper body jerked away, and he pulled his hand from hers. “Saeros! Are you saying what he did was not—”

“I am not saying he did not cause hurt or pain, but there were things at work that he could not have known…”

And for the next several minutes, Celebrian described the full story of Saeros’s encounter with the strange Elf in the woods as a child, the ring that possessed him.

“I ask you, my child: who else was hurt?”

“No one. He attacked my mind.”

“This is true, and while I do not minimize your struggles, have pity for Saeros, for his actions caused the death of his own parents, and his best friend. Do you not agree he was just as much a victim as you?”

_“Ai Naergon…”_ he managed to say, as his vision blurred with hot tears. “It is I who is at fault; if I had not bullied him and been so cruel, he would not have gone out to the Forest alone that day. I…” Waves of shame and regret slammed into him, and he crossed his arms over his stomach. 

“You were a child, Turamarth; and you did try and make amends for actions.”

“But it was too late, and his life – and so many others – were ruined because of me!” 

Celebrian spread her hands with compassion in her eyes. “Who is to stay this would not have happened to any child? How often did you go into the Forest alone to climb your tree? Clearly Pallando was lying in wait, and had it not been Saeros, it might have been you, or your cousin or any one of the Elflings who dwelt nearby. Your regret for your actions inspired you to serve your people as a Guardian.”

“But I _always_ wanted to be a soldier, My Lady,” he wiped his eyes. “That did not change.”

“But you used that lesson as help you excel. You are one of the best soldiers in Lord Thranduil’s army, yes?”

“People say so, but…”

“Turamarth, you have gone beyond the military skill to truly grasp what a Guardian is meant to be. All of your comrades are talented, but few have reached your level of skill and dedication. 

“I do not understand,” he wiped his face with the heel of his hand.

_“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend,”_ Celebrian quoted the oft-repeated motto. “You have a deep and true love your people, Turamarth, and would not hesitate give your life to defend the defenseless. It is one of your biggest strengths.”

The Elf’s hand lifted to grasp the yellow jewel. “I am not so sure, anymore,” he swallowed and lowered his gaze. “I feel… different, inside, and sometimes I am not sure of anything.”

“Because you have yet to forgive yourself, child, but you will.” Celebrian’s mouth lifted into a patient smile. “Once you learn to love and trust your self again, you are free to give and receive it freely from others.” 

“When will that be?”

“Soon, Guardian,” she patted his hand. “In the meantime, the _Gîl-Naur _will help you.”

“Will I always need it like this?”

“Not always,” the lovely _Elleth_ gave him an enigmatic smile. 

“What do I do with it?” he asked. “I mean, after I am better?”

Her smooth, soft hands cupped his cheeks. “Let your heart tell you.” She gracefully rose from her seat, and after a leaning down to place a gentle kiss upon his brow, she stepped back into the sunshine. What had been a dark, diseased place, was now filled with flowers and leaves and birdsong.

“Until we meet again, Turamarth, son of Ómar,” she lifted her hand in farewell, then turned and disappeared into the trees.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon_ sí _di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!_ \- O Elbereth Starkindler from firmanent gazing afar, to thee I cry here beneath death-horror! O look towards me, Everwhite!

_Ai Naergon… _\- Oh, this is terrible (lit. “Oh, Lament’)

_Díheno nin_ – Forgive me (I have wronged you)

_Gîl-Naur_ – Sun-Star, the necklace given to Tur by Galadriel to bring him help.

_Laer Gurth –_ Funeral (lit. “Song of Death”)

_Na vedui! De fael a vilui, Belain - _At last! You and kind and generous, Valar

**NOTES:**

[1] _And Winter Came…_, Ch. 22: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/29869179>

[2] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 25: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/44623087>

[3] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 28: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/45143632>


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vigil in the Healing Hall continues, and the waiting wears on Tur and Evvy’s loved ones. The date of the Kings’ anniversary dawns, but their private celebration is interrupted…

_“I didn't know it would be so strong_

_Waiting and wondering about you_

_I didn't know it would last so long_

_Nights are forever without you…”_

_ by **England Dan & John Ford Coley**_

**The Woodland Realm, 12th of December**

Daeron’s eyes opened as the hand on his shoulder shook him gently.

“Wake up, my son,” Adamar said softly. “You have fallen asleep, again.”

He blinked rapidly as he found his bearings. He was seated in the chair next to Turamarth’s bed, and it was night.

“Get some rest, _Ion nîn_. It does little good to wear yourself down to rags; in this condition you could not help your _Gwador_ even if you wanted to.” He grabbed Daeron’s forearms and hauled him to his feet. “Your _Naneth_ is here, as is _Tîrana_ _Indis,_ and they will watch over him. You are coming with me.”

“But—”

“You have not left the Healing Hall in four days! Must I pull rank on you, Lieutenant? You are beyond exhaustion, and there is nothing to be done for Tur and Evvy but to wait. I am proud of you, Daeron, we all are, but I will not lose you, too!”

He was too fatigued to argue with his father as they made their way back to the apartment his parents shared with his Aunt and Uncle. 

“It is well that your mother’s staff has made sure we are eating well,” his _Adar_ said, “but do not think I did not notice you merely picked over your meals for two days straight.”

“As have you,” Daeron retorted. 

_“Ai,_ that is also true,” Adamar admitted. “Once we get you home, we will both eat a good dinner. Then I am putting you to bed in your old room, and _you will sleep._ That is an order.”

Once Daeron conceded how tired he really was, his limbs grew heaviy and when they finally reached their rooms, Adamar guided him straight into the bedroom. After helping him into a nightshirt, he pulled back the covers and eased him into a sitting position against the pillows, then came right back with a tray laden with food.

“I assume you planned this?” Daeron eyebrows lifted.

“Your mother and Aunt, to be specific,” his father’s shoulders lifted slightly. “There is no arguing with the twins when they are determined,” he lifted a spoonful of bread pudding to Daeron’s lips. “In this case, I completely agree. Now, eat up.”

It was too much; the worry, the fear, and the fatigue reached a crescendo at his father’s kindness, and Daeron’s throat tightened painfully. Tears sprang into his eyes, and he could barely see Adamar lower the spoon and set the tray aside. ”I am sorry, _Ada_,” he managed to get out. “I wanted…”

His father said nothing; just patiently smiled and waited for him to continue.

“Tur looked after Rhian when I was gone, and he…,” Daeron’s vision swam, “when Rhian and I had our problems, it was he who brought us help! We owe him everything, _Ada!”_

“I know. No one could have cared for him better than you, _Ion vuin.”_

“If he… W-What do I tell Evvy, when she wakes?” his voice cracked with emotion. “They both have been through so much, and…”

Adamar held his face and looked deep into his eyes. “Yet both live still, and we will keep our hopes alive. You want to be alert when he does wake up, yes?” He picked up the spoon again. “Now eat, or I will tell your _Naneth_ on you.”

Once Daeron had consumed enough to satisfy his father, Adamar tucked him in. “You will feel better once you get a decent night’s rest.” Warm lips kissed his forehead.

“_Ada?”_

“Yes?”

_“Gi melin.”_

“And I love you, my son.”

When he opened his eyes again, bright daylight streamed across the folds of his blanket. Once he pushed himself up to sit, his gaze wandered to his left, where Turamarth’s narrow bed still sat, neatly made. 

Their parents raised the two of them together, and though it had been over eighteen hundred years since they had reached their majority and began their careers as soldiers in Lord Thranduil’s Army, and had their own small apartments. Still, none of them had the heart to dismantle this room, and much of their childhood memorabilia was lovingly preserved on their dressers.

When the two of them were no longer children, their _Adars_ had offered to build them separate rooms, but the _Ellyn_ had rejected the idea, and over the years, it was remarkable how often he and Tur came back home to these rooms for one reason or another. 

After Sellwen died, Tur brought Daeron from Dale and stayed with him for months, until he was sure the danger of the grief had passed. Even after Tur went back to his duties, Daeron stayed for another two years.

Sometimes, after a particularly grueling tour, one or both of them would show up at their parent’s door, needing no explanation to be brought in for some rest and comfort. As Captains, Ómar and Adamar knew full well how fighting spiders, Orcs and traveling through the heavy air of a sickened forest can take on an Elf’s well-being, and their mothers happily gave them tea, good food, and peaceful company for as long as they wanted it.

Few Elves in the Woodland Realm had a home life as wonderful as theirs and Daeron had always been grateful.

With a sigh, he threw the blankets back and crawled out of bed. How long had he been asleep?

Once he used the privy, washed and dressed, he padded out to his parents’ sitting room to find a note on the table in his mother’s handwriting, next to a tray with bread, creamy cheese and some fruit:

_We wanted you to sleep in. There has been no change, so get yourself some lunch then come to the H.H._

Lunch?

Daeron turned to check the clock on the mantel. _Ai, gorgor,_ it was past noon! He quickly spread a slice of bread, drank the cold tea and popped a few grapes in his mouth before he headed toward the door.

There was a familiar noise outside the apartment, a voice. No; _two_ voices.

_Could it be…_ he quickened his steps and turned the knob.

“_Ada_!” Darryn jumped from his mother’s arms into his, and tiny arms tightened around his neck.

“Hi,” Rhian smiled and reached for him.

Daeron couldn’t talk. He lowered his head and buried it in the curve of her neck and let himself be surrounded by his wife and son, who were safe and in his arms.

Rhian smiled up at him after found the strength to let her go. “Hilda told me what happened, and I wanted to come but…”

“Did she tell you _everything?”_

“Aye, but she said I had to wait until Lord Bard was sure that thing Elrohir found wasn’t going to hurt anyone else. I wasn’t going to wait much longer, even if I had to leave Darryn there. Oh, gods, babe… How are they?”

“I do not know, yet. We think Evvy will wake up, but Tur had suddenly taken a turn for the worse and—”

“Don’t cry, _Ada_.” Darryn reached up and wiped his eyes. “’s Unca Tur sick?”

“He is, _Pînig__;_ but we are going to do everything we can to get him better,” Daeron gave him a wobbly smile.

“We’ll sing a song,” the boy offered.

“That will help him, Little Man,” Rhian hugged around Daeron’s waist. “They’re putting our things in the same suite we used when we were here last, but for now, could we go see him and Evvy?”

“Absolutely,” he kissed his wife and son. 

***************

**14th of December 2944 T.A.**

A polite knock was heard on the door of the Elvenking’s study. Thranduil’s eyes immediately sought Bard’s gaze as the Bowman sat at the round table in his study, working on his own correspondence. The image of Turamarth and Evranin immediately sprang to mind, and he sent up a quick prayer that the news would be encouraging. After seven days, neither one had yet to wake up, though in the past few days, their vital signs had improved.

But still. Things could take a turn for the worse, could they?

_“Neledâf,” _he called out.

Lieutenant Amrol entered and saluted, then stood at attention.

“You have something to report?”

“I do, _Aran nîn_._” _The Lieutenant’s face was gloomy. “We have discovered the remains of two Elves, a male and a female, six and a half miles from Seldion and Heril’s village.”

Thranduil slumped back into his chair with a sigh. _“Ai, naeda; fîrnar…”_ and rubbed his eyelids.

Bard rose and came over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

“I took the liberty of bringing them back to the palace and had them placed in coffins. I hope that is in keeping with your wishes, My Lord,” Amrol’s head bowed in deference and utter sadness. “It seemed…the respectful thing to do.”

“Of course, it was, Lieutenant,” Thranduil nodded. “And we are certain they were Saeros’s parents?”

“The graves did not face the West, and there were no markers,” Amrol swallowed. “Had it not been for the dogs, we would never have found them.”

“Thank you. After I speak with Lady Emëldir about the arrangements for the funeral, I will make a formal announcement, though I imagine word of mouth has spread,” the Elvenking said, grimly. “This is a sad, day, Lieutenant; in all the years since my father took the throne, not one Kinslaying has occurred in these lands.”

“It is difficult to contemplate, _Aran nîn_,” Amrol’s head nodded slightly, as he struggled to keep composed. While no Elf deserves such a fate, it is especially grievous that it should befall two such kind and honorable people.”

“You knew them personally?” Bard asked.

“I did,” the Lieutenant told them. “Or rather, my parents did, though they spent many an evening at our dinner table when I was very small.”

  
“So, you knew Saeros when he was young?” Bard pulled a chair over beside his husband and took a seat.

“I did, Lord Bard.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. “Can you tell us what you remember?”

“I was a few years younger than him, but when we were both children, I liked him very much, My Lord. He smiled a great deal, and his parents doted on him. Then…”

“Yes?” Thranduil urged. “He changed?”

“He did, though I cannot explain it. Saeros used to laugh, but suddenly… it was as if he was… emptied of emotion, and one could tell that his reactions were no longer genuine.”

“You mean, he was faking it, to keep up appearances?” Bard asked. 

“I think so.”

“And how old was he when you noticed this change?”

“I was only twenty-four, and Saeros was a few years older. After that, my parents said that Heril and Seldion seldom came to our apartment to visit, and when they did, they did not bring their son. Their friendship was strained, and soon after they moved away.”

“I wonder of that had anything to do with that ring we found,” Bard stroked his chin and turned to the Elvenking. “Do you think?”

“It is entirely possible,” Thranduil agreed. “Hopefully we will know more when we hear from Mithrandir.”

“If you will excuse me,_” _Amrol said, “I must see to _Maenwen_. She is weary from the journey, and I believe she is depressed after such a gruesome discovery.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” the Elvenking told him. “You look the same. Make sure to have the dog checked over then both of you take a few days off.”

_“De vilui,_ _Aran nîn,”_ the Elf turned to leave, then stopped. “I should tell you that we found them wrapped well in silk shrouds, with embroidered handkerchiefs covering both their faces, as if to protect them from the soil. If I did not know better, I would say it was a sign that Saeros might have loved them still.”

“At this point, we cannot discount anything, Amrol. Fill out your report then go get some rest. If any other detail comes to mind, no matter how minor, do not hesitate to seek me out.”

_“Ma, Hîr nîn.”_

After Amrol exited his study, Thranduil gritted his teeth with impatience and smacked his palm on the surface of his desk. “Why does Mithrandir not respond? And when will Tur and Evvy wake up? It has been an entire week!”

Bard lifted his hand to rub his back. “Hopefully soon, love. All we can do is wait and pray.” He went over to the table spread with his papers and brought back a few letters, one written in a childish script. “Here; this came with today’s box.”

Thranduil smiled as he took the paper and read:

> _Dear Da and Ada,_
> 
> _I miss you! Auntie Hil says you are busy with something <strike>impotant</strike> important, but she can’t say what. Just that it’s King stuff, but you are gone forever!_
> 
> _You have to be for Yule! It won’t be any fun without you! You’ll miss the Feast and the dancing and the stories and the presents! I made you both something and you have to be here! _
> 
> _Ruvyn is doing a good job of garding me, and tells me to be pasient. Kings just have to go away sometimes, and he says you will come back very soon. But I miss you!_
> 
> _Thangon misses you too, though Meryl makes sure to keep him busy, but he keeps looking at your bedchamber door and <strike>wining</strike> <strike>winning</strike> crying. Tauriel takes him out for long walks at night, just like Ada did, but it just isn’t the same!_
> 
> _Galion and Rôgon come every night to keep us company. Rôg and Unkle Percy are teaching me how to play Stretagim, and I like it a lot. Galion says its okay to play cards, but I’m not allowd to gamble with money. Auntie Hil said that too, so we use my jar of little stones I picked up at the beach last sumer. I do real good when Uncle Rôg helps me. He wispers in my eaer and tells me what to do._
> 
> _Bain is good. I think Rhys and Bowen are exspecially nice because he misses you guys. Bowen’s horse is starting to get fat, Da. Please tell Fînlossen _that Voreema misses him. 
> 
> _How is Tur? Auntie Hil said he is not feeling well, but she won’t say why? Is he sick? Is Daeron taking care of him? I hope so. _
> 
> _OOOH! Tauriel said that her horse is going to be a Da! Did you know that? Vildan’s horse is going to have a baby, too! That will be sooo fun! I wanted to ride Blossom yesterday but Auntie Hil said no, its too cold out. _
> 
> _I had my spelling test this week, and I only got two wrong. Ruvyn says to write the words right ten times each, and make a list of hard words and keep them at my desk to help. Subtraxtion was hard to do in my head, but I write it out. And we reading a new book about somebody named Haleth a long tiem ago. She was a girl who was a leader of her people and I like that. Girls are just as good as boys! Miss Eryn says I am good at my reading and sometimes I help the other kids when they have trooble._
> 
> _Write back soon, but it would be beter if you came back soon!_
> 
> _Love _
> 
> _Your Tithen Pen and Beanie_
> 
> _(Tilda)_

The Elvenking folded the paper with a sigh. “I miss her, as well. I miss them all_, _but if we continue to be delayed, perhaps you should go—”

“Not until I know what that thing on Saeros’s hand is, and I can be sure my people won’t be in any kind of danger. If we have to, we’ll send for the family and celebrate Yule at the Palace. But,” Bard leaned over and caressed his cheek, “you need me and I’m not leaving you.”

“Thank you, _Meleth nîn,”_ he said and kissed his Bowman. 

They were interrupted by another frantic knock at the door. 

“Come!” he called.

“My Lord!” an assistant from the Healing Hall stuck her head in. “Tur is waking up!”

***************

**15th of December 2944 T.A.**

Fingers lightly tickled the palm of his hand.

And there was singing, but not the graceful harmonies as sung by Elves. This was…

…different. It was the song of a small child, along with a familiar, feminine voice:

_Put your clothes on; don’t refuse_

_Breeches, gloves, and also shoes;_

_Hat on head for rain or sun;_

_Buttons – do up every one._

_Put your belt around your waist,_

_Then make sure the end is placed_

_Through the buckle till the pin_

_Holds the belt-end safely in! **_

“Mmmm…” Turamarth tried to open his eyes.

“Take it slow, _Gwador,” _a familiar voice said, over the singing of the others. 

A few drops of water soothed his dry mouth, and he gratefully smacked his lips. “Wh…”

“You are still in the Healing Hall, and everyone is safe. Can you open your eyes, now?”

Slowly, he blinked them open. Daeron was smiling down at him, holding a straw and a glass of water. “Welcome back,” he said. “Do you remember your visitors?”

“Unca Tur?” a small voice to his right squeaked eagerly. “You ‘wake again?”

Turamarth’s opened wider at the sight of his little nephew. “Hello,” he managed to say.

“Missed you!” Darryn stood in his mother’s lap and leaned against her arms. “Mama said to sing so you’d feel better!”

“Thank you,” he croaked, and managed to lift a hand to reach for his necklace. Praise Varda – or rather, praise Celebrian - it was still there.

Rhian put the boy down and went to kiss his cheek. “You worried us half to death, you know,” she scolded, as she brushed the hair from his face. “I’m so glad you’re back with us, again. Do you remember the first time you woke up?”

Tur’s face wrinkled in concentration.

“That’s all right; Daeron said you might not, so don’t worry about it. Your parents were here, and so were the Kings, and now that we’re sure you’re going to be okay, Lord Thranduil made them go get some rest. They’ll be back in a few hours.”

“How did… What…”

“Today is Thursday, love,” she said, still stroking his forehead. “You’ve been asleep for a week, but Ivárë told us all you’re going to be just fine.”

“I wan’ see!” Darryn jumped up and down. “C’n I see, _Ada?”_

With a chuckle, Daeron lifted his son, and deposited him on Tur’s bed, Blankie and all. The boy scrambled to him, carefully spreading the small wool blanket over his chest. 

“Allll better,” Darryn snuggled into him.

“Thank you, _Pînig_,” his voice was still rough, as the solid warmth of the child settled into him. “I loved your song.”

“You welcome,” Darryn kissed his cheek and rubbed his chest. “I wove you.”

“I love you, too, child.”

“And before you ask,” Daeron added, “Evvy’s in the room next to us, and she is much improved.”

“She is?” Turamarth’s heart stirred.

“She is alive, and though we did not know for several days what would happen, she now sleeps, and we expect her to awake any day now.”

“But she was in the water—”

“You can thank your stubborn cousin for that,” Elrohir stuck his head into the room. “He was convinced there was still a chance, and he was right.” The son of Elrond padded over to his bed and stroked Darryn’s dark brown curls. “I am glad to see you, _Mellon nîn.”_

“How did you do that?” he asked them both.

“It is a long story, and I will tell you later. In the meantime, you are to rest, and we will get you something to eat.”

Darryn sat up. “Unca Tur wants cake!”

“I doubt your Uncle is ready for such rich food,” Elrohir grinned. “But I suppose we could bring _you _some, yes?”

“Yep!” the boy’s chin bobbed up and down with enthusiasm.

“Bring a big slice,” Tur said, cuddling Darryn to him. “My _Súyon _will help me eat it.”

As it turned out, they all had their dinner in Tur’s room. Rhian spoon-fed him some broth and tea, and he even managed a few bites of cake that Darryn graciously shared with him. Once their parents appeared again, the boy was getting sleepy, so his _Gwador_ and _Gwathel_ said their good nights, but not before Darryn gave him a sloppy kiss and solemnly offered the services of his special blanket. 

“Will you be all right without it, _Pînig_?” Turamarth asked. 

“Uh huh,” Darryn told him. “You no have bad dreams.”

“In that case, I thank you,” Tur told him seriously. “I have had some scary dreams, of late.”

“Blankie’ll hewp you.”

Soon after, his mother helped him fold it up and tucked it in Turamarth’s arms, and, for the first time since that horrible scene at the cave, Turamarth’s sleep was restful, and his dreams pleasant.

***************

**17th of December 2944 T.A.**

“Happy Anniversary, love,” Bard kissed his husband awake. 

“Happy Anniversary, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil’s black lashes fluttered, as he opened his sea-blue eyes. 

“As much as I hate being away from the kids, it’s kind of nice to be in the bed where our marriage first started,” he lifted his arm and pulled his Elf to him. “Do you remember?”

“How could I forget such a wonderful, magical night?” Thranduil lifted his head and smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the morning light. “Our _fëas_ joined, and we became one.”

“It was also the longest, strongest, best orgasm of my entire life,” Bard snickered. “It nearly turned me inside out.”

The Elvenking rolled on top of him and covered his face with kisses. “Shall we see if we can outdo ourselves?”

“I’m game if you are,” he said, and with the next kiss, his mouth opened with a moan as Thranduil’s tongue sought entrance.

One of the blessings of being so joined was that his husband knew what pleased him, he knew just how to touch his face, how to tease his nipples until they were hard pebbles and, when Thranduil shimmied down to take Bard’s hardened length into his mouth, he knew exactly how to move his tongue and to cup and massage his balls until the Bowman was a throbbing, restless mess.

Fingertips brushed against the insides of his thighs, then moved up to circle over his opening, as Bard’s hips moved in circular motions. But when the Elf sat up to grab the oil—

“Not so fast, you,” Bard grabbed his husband and flipped them over, and landed on top of him.

“I thought we were going to reenact our wedding night,” Thranduil laughed.

“All in good time…” He kissed the Elf’s neck, then gently nibbled on his right nipple as he pinched the other one.

“Mmmm… That is so good… I like your new rules.”

“Thought you might,” Bard nipped down his stomach, then nuzzled into his groin all around his cock but never touching it. Still, it twitched and hardened until it was deep pink, and a bead of clear liquid seeped from his tip.

“I see you like it,” the Bowman taunted him. 

“I will like it more when you finally do something,” Thranduil growled. “You are torturing me!”

“Shall I stop?”

“NO!”

But the Elf’s complaint soon turned into a yelp of pleasure as Bard dove onto him and immersed the cock in his mouth. He flicked his tongue along the sensitive skin on the underside of its tip and proceeded to drive Thranduil to near-madness, if the stir in his own body was any indication.

A small bottle was shoved into Bard’s hand. “Please…” Thranduil panted. “I cannot wait any longer!”

“As you wish, My King,” Bard sat up and popped the cork—

When the door to their apartment boomed with several loud knocks. “My Lord Thranduil!” Ivran called out. “Lord Bard! Are you awake?”

“Oh, bloody fuck!” Bard groaned. “Do we have time to…”

“I cannot make love to you with that racket,” the Elvenking sighed and sat up. “It could be important.”

Bard scrambled off the bed and grabbed his green robe. “Boy it’d better be, or somebody’s going to get demoted back to a Private!”

The King of Dale fastened the belt of his robe, opened the double doors to their bedchamber as the knocking increased. 

“I’m coming!” he yelled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thranduil in his own black and gold robe, making feeble attempts at smoothing down his messy hair. “Pipe down or you’ll wake the whole damned Palace!” As he unlocked the door and yanked it open, he said, “this had better be good Ivran, because today is—”

“My Lord, I am sorry to - _ohhhhhh..._” the Guardian took in their disheveled appearance, and winced in embarrassment, then regained his focus. “Mistress Ivárë sent me to fetch you at once; Evranin is waking up!”

Instantly Bard sought out his husband’s grey eyes. “Oh, stars…”

“It is a good reason, _Meleth nîn_,” the Elvenking shrugged. “Wait here, Lieutenant; we will be out in five minutes.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Ivran saluted and tactfully stepped to the side as the door closed on him.

The Kings hurried back into their chambers and after splashing water on their faces quickly dressed.

“I am afraid to find out what condition she’s in, after such an ordeal,” Thranduil whispered, as he fastened his leggings. “Too well I remember how Tilda’s brain was so affected after her illness…”

“But our Little Bean is all right again, love,” Bard grabbed his hand and squeezed. 

“That is only because Galadriel spend much of her energy bringing her back to health. Then she helped bring my son and I back together, and _now_ she is too weak to help one of _her own_ people! What do I say to her father and brother when they arrive? What do I do if—”

“Stop, now. Let’s just go and see what happens, yeah? Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Bard didn’t let go of his Elf’s hand as they hurried through the Palace. Though the Elvenking stood tall and majestic, the Bowman could feel his nervousness through their _fëa_, and sent him as much as he could to reassure him. 

It may well be that their joining on their wedding night was the single, most pleasurable sex Bard had or ever will have, but _this_ was the real benefit of sharing one _fëa: _the fullness, the comfort, the reassurance that they could give to one another without uttering a single word.

It was the knowledge that someone would _always_ be there, would _always_ understand.

This was truly the greatest gift.

Turamarth was in the hall, supported by Rhian who scowled at Daeron, because he was telling his cousin he should not be out of bed, yet.

“Babe, if that were me in there, would _you_ stay in bed?” she quirked an eyebrow up at her husband. “And trust me: if that were you, I’d crawl in my hands and knees to see you. Now, help me get him in there and we’ll get him a chair. I’ll stay with him while you work on Evvy, yeah?”

Daeron looked to Bard for help.

“Sorry,” he shrugged with a smile, “I agree with your wife. Where is Ivárë?”

“She is in with Evvy, along with my Aunt Indis.” 

“Daeron and Thranduil, you go on ahead,” Bard told them. “Rhian and I will look after Tur.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Turamarth’s face was pale, and he was trembling with the effort to remain standing.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” the Bowman murmured, as he lifted Tur’s arm over his shoulders. “If you faint, your cousin will be saying ‘I told you so’ for years on end. Come on, let’s get you in a chair…”

***************  
  


> _“Ask Lady of Light for guidance, child,” Vériel’s voice grew softer as the sunlight faded. “She will be as your mother, until we meet again.”_
> 
> _“All right,” Evvy’s eyes drooped then she remembered something. “What was Saeros’s gift, Nana?”_
> 
> _“You will see…” Vériel’s voice echoed in her mind, as Tilion brought Ithil into the night sky, and she was bathed in a bright, silvery light…_

_Naneth_ was gone, and the air was filled by the whispered concerns of several others.

“Evvy,” a familiar voice called softly. “Please _Aewpin; _it is time to join those who care about you.” 

She strained to lift her eyelids, and silver light was replaced by slivers of bright white light, making her flinch.

“She is trying,” an _Elleth_ said with authority. “Keep talking to her, Daeron.”

_Daeron? _

“Evvy, _Mellon_ _nîn; _your father and brother are on their way to the Palace, and you want to be awake to see them, yes?”

“Tell her Tur is here with us,” a woman suggested.

At the sound of that name, a soft sound escaped her lips. 

A deep baritone voice was added to the mix. “Everyone is safe, now, child. The children are well and back in their parent’s arms, thanks to you.”

_Safe… everyone is safe…_ But what about Saeros?

As if in answer, the Elvenking (for only Lord Thranduil had a voice that deep) added, “Saeros was killed, and can no longer hurt anyone.”

With supreme effort, Evvy managed to keep her eyes open a little, and after blinking several times, the welcome image of her brother’s friend smiled down at her.

“Hello,” Daeron rested his fingers on her cheek. “I am so,” he swallowed hard, and his voice grew hoarse as his eyes shone with unshed tears. “I am so very glad to see you.”

Her brows drew together. “Wh…”

“You are in the Healing Halls of the Palace of the Woodland Realm,” he said. “Dylan and Rowena have been returned to their parents, safe and sound. You fell into the water in the cave, remember? The ice killed Saeros, but we managed to get you out and…” he hesitated, “bring you back. Do not try to talk just yet; just relax and allow your body to finish waking up.”

But Evvy shook her head slightly and her mouth pursed again. “Wh…” her eyes darted to her right and tried to focus.

“I know what she needs,” it was the woman’s voice again. After a few scraping sounds of furniture sliding across the floor, Evvy’s hand was taken by a trembling fingers. Instantly, her heart knew who it was, and it leaped with joy in her breast, giving her strength.

Soft lips kissed her knuckles. “Evvy?” Tur whispered to her. _“Ae, Evranin_ _Ohtariel..._ Please, come back to us.” Tears fell upon her skin, cooling instantly, and making her body stir with memory.

_Nienna’s tears..._

_“This gift will bring you comfort…”_

_Naneth looking lovely in her newfound happiness, with her new husband..._

_“Will I marry Tur?” _

_“Do you love him?” _

_“I do.”_

With a deep, cleansing breath, Evvy came back to full consciousness. The room was full of people, but once her eyes fell upon the pale Guardian with mahogany hair and green eyes seated next to her, no one else mattered.

“Tur?” she whispered. 

He pressed her hand to his forehead and sobbed with relief. _“Belain hanni,” _he said over and over. _“__Na vedui! De fael a vilui, Belain!”_

“How do you feel, Evvy?” Daeron asked as he checked the pulse in her neck.

“Tired, but well, I think.”

“That is wonderful news, but I will feel better when I check your lungs,” he pulled the blanket off her chest, then stopped as his hands rested upon something foreign along her collarbone. It was a crumpled piece of silver silk, trimmed with lace. “This was not here a few minutes ago.”

“Oh…” Evvy’s eyes bulged, then struggled to sit up.

“Here, child,” Ivárë lifted her shoulders and placed several pillows behind her. “Is this all right?”

“Yes,” she reached for the handkerchief. “May I?”

“Of course,” Daeron handed over to her, and she slowly unfolded it.

Inside was a silver necklace, bearing a single round diamond.

“Oh, my goodness!” Rhian gasped. “It’s so beautiful! Where did you find it?”

“It is one of Nienna’s tears,” Evvy whispered dazedly, as the facets of the large stone reflected on the walls of the room, “but _he_ must have made the necklace...” her eyes swept the room until they rested upon those of the Elvenking. 

“My Lord,” she swallowed, “there is something I need to tell you…”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ae, Hîr nîn_ – Yes, My Lord

_Ai, naeda; fîrnar…_ \- So, it is true; they are dead…

_Belain hanni_ – Thank the Valar

_Gi melin_ – I love you.

_Ion vuin nîn_ – My Beloved son

_Na vedui! De fael a vilui, Belain!_ – At last! You and kind and generous, Valar!

_Neledâf_ – Come in (Lit. “Permission to Enter”)

_Súyon –_ nephew

**NOTES:**

** Walter of Bibbesworth, a 13th century knight, offered up this poem to remind children how to dress themselves: <https://www.medievalists.net/2012/12/fleas-flies-and-friars-childrens-poetry-from-the-middle-ages/>


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turamarth has a tale to tell to his cousins, which means our Kings' anniversary celebrations will have to wait even longer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, kids, but the cold I had last month boomeranged back on me, worse than ever. But, I’m past the worst of it, and, now that I'm not so doped up from cold medicines, I wanted to get this to you ASAP. 
> 
> Today's song suggestion comes from dmadruidd, and it's especially perfect, because it comes from Luke Evan's album!

_“The first time, ever I saw your face_

_I thought the sun rose in your eyes_

_And the moon and the stars_

_Were the gifts you gave_

_To the dark, and the endless skies_

_My Love…”_

_ By** Roberta Flack** _

**The Woodland Realm, 17th of December 2944 T.A.**

“My Lord,” Evvy swallowed, “there is something I need to tell you…”

Thranduil studied the pendant with great interest, “May I?” He held out his hand.

“Of course,” she gave it to him, and he held it up and let the light reflect on the large stone. “This is truly exquisite! A tear from Nienna, did you say?”

“The Vala gave the tear, but,” she said weakly, suddenly growing pale again, “but she did not make the necklace…”

“Evranin, whatever you need to say can wait,” Daeron said firmly, as he eased her back down against the soft pillows. “We just got you back and we have to be careful not to overtax you." The Elf turned to his King and said, "Evvy needs to rest, My Lord, and she is not the only one.” He jerked his head toward his cousin, who was weaving slightly.”

“Gwador, you are as white as your gown.” He grabbed Tur’s arm as Bard took the other one. “You will get back to your room and remain there until you are stronger.”

“But—“ Turamarth opened his mouth to protest.

“He is right,” the Elvenking shook his head. “My apologies. We will speak again when you are stronger. I will send a message immediately to your father and brother.”

Rhian stepped closer to the bed. “Here; let me just put this on you. You wouldn’t want to lose something as precious as this, would you?” She carefully lifted her head ran the chain underneath, fastened it carefully and stroked her brow. “We are so happy to have you back, Evvy.” 

“Thank you,” she murmured softly, as her eyelids grew heavy. “Where is Tur?”

“I am here,” the Guardian answered, as he swayed between his cousin and the King of Dale.

“I am glad you are well…” and she was asleep.

“That is enough, now,” Daeron said. “You can have another visit after you both are stronger.”

“You stay here with Evvy,” Rhian offered. “Lord Bard and I will take Tur back to his room, and I’ll sit with him.”

“Thank you, _Hind Calen.” _ Daeron leaned over the sleeping _Elleth_ and checked her vital signs. “She is still weak, but her progress has been remarkable.”

“I imagine she is going to have some story to tell, when she is strong enough,” Thranduil mused, as he observed the lovely blonde _Elleth_. Then a thought occurred to him. “Has Tur reported any sort of vision during his Sleep?”

“He said he has, but has yet to speak of it.” the Guardian sighed. “I fear they were recurring nightmares of the torture he received at the hands of Pallando.”

_“Ai, Naergon…”_ the Elvenking closed his eyes and shook his head. “How can we help him?”

“I do not want to push him just yet; perhaps when he is stronger, Rhian can talk to him and get the full story. He confides in her like no other.”

“Not even you?”

“She has a better understanding of the…nature of his grief, if you understand my meaning. They have helped each other.”

***************

Rhian and Bard half-carried Turamarth back to his room and helped him into bed. Rhian fluffed his pillows and pulled the blankets up to keep him warm.

“You did good, Tur,” Bard rested his hand on the Elf’s ankle and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem. Have you got everything you need?”

“I’ll stay a while and look after him,” Rhian told them, after she poured a glass of water and helped Tur hold it to his lips. 

“If you sure…”

“I’ve got this, My Lord,” she waved him off. “Darryn is spending the morning with his grandmother, and she’ll be bringing him by for lunch. Oh!” her face brightened. “It’s yours and Lord Thranduil’s anniversary today!”

“Many happy returns, My Lord,” Turamarth saluted from his bed.

“Thank you,” the King of Dale bowed his head demurely. “But please; the most important thing is that you and Evvy are getting well.”

_“Ci vilui,_ _Hîr nîn__.”_

“Thranduil and I will check in on you later; you get some more rest.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

After Bard left, Rhian quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do you realize what you just did back there?”

“Back where?” he finished his water and handed her his cup.

_“You know,”_ her eyes danced. 

“Know what?” his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

“You’re kidding right? You mean, you really didn’t realize what happened?” Rhian was incredulous. “I can’t believe it!”

_“Gwathel,_ it is not nice to tease an Elf in my delicate condition,” he quipped, as his head flopped back against his pillows. “What do you speak of?”

“Think, love; you sat beside her bed, and when she opened her eyes, what did you do?” she poked his side with her finger. 

“Well, you pushed my chair next to her bed…”

“Yep, and then what did you do?”

Suddenly Tur’s eyes bulged. “I took her hand!” he croaked. 

“And you even kissed it,” Rhian’s heart was ready to burst with pride and happiness. 

“I had no time to think of it,” he whispered. “I just… did it.”

“You sure did, just like this,” she reached her hand over and grasped his. ““How did you feel, love?”

“I do not know…” the Elf searched her face. “Does this mean I do not have to…”

“What that means is you were so happy she woke up that no bad memories had a chance to hurt you.” She leaned forward and gave his fingers a squeeze. “Don’t overthink this. Just be happy that she’s awake and you’re both going to be fine.” 

“But what if I…” Tur struggled for the words.”

“Maybe next time you feel comfortable enough to hold her hand, or maybe you won’t feel right about it. These things come in fits and starts, sweetie. Hannah explained to me once that it’s like an “upward spiral” and things are going to go around in a cycle for a while. [1] Just go with your instincts and be gentle with yourself.”

Turamarth rolled on his side to face her. “I wish these terrible things had not happened, Rhian,” his voice wavered. “I wish it with all my heart, and I get so angry, sometimes.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she unclasped their hands and pushed the hair away from his face. “So, does anyone who is the victim of such things. Half the reason why I got so sick a few months ago was because I was angry for the same reasons.” She sighed and said, “You know, the hardest part of my recovery wasn’t getting over the pain and the bad memories.”

“It was not?”

“No,” she shook her head sadly. “It was learning to trust the good things in my life, when they finally came to me. I went from losing my mother, only to be neglected by my father, then abused by Garth…” she shivered. “But then, all my wishes came true! Suddenly I had Darryn, and Da, and I fell head over heels in love with Daeron and now…”

“The better things became, the more you knew it would destroy you to lose it all again.” Tur murmured.

“Exactly! Just like I said to Elénaril that morning you and Lord Bard helped me, remember? [2] What I’m trying to say is, go easy with yourself; take things as they come, and be grateful, but don’t let your fear of losing it make you lose your faith entirely, like I did.”

Turamarth took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Rhian?”

“Yes, love?”

“I need to tell you what happened when I was...”

“I know something happened; you were sleeping, then all of a sudden, you took a turn for the worse, and nobody could explain it.” She grabbed his hand again and gently massaged his fingers. “Are you sure?”

“Please; it was terrible and remarkable and…” his eyes met her green ones. “There is something important you all need to know.”

“Do you want Daeron here, too?”

He nodded.

“All right; Wait here; I’ll be right back.” Rhian jumped up from her chair and went out into the hall, where she found Daeron leaving Evvy’s room. “How is she?”

“This time she is only sleeping, praise the Valar. Her heart is strong again and she is breathing deeply. How is Tur?”

“He needs to talk to us about what he saw, and I think it has something to do with his attack in Lothlórien. Could you make sure that no one disturbs us?”

“I’ll tell the staff and will join you in a few minutes.” Daeron tilted his head and searched her eyes. “What is it, _Hervess nîn?”_

Rhian suddenly threw her arms around her husband and gave him a big kiss. “I just love you so much.”

“And I love you,” he smiled down a her. “What brought this on?”

She smiled up at him as tears stung her eyes. “Because, after all I put you through, you still love me, even though half the time I don’t deserve it. Because you still want to make all my dreams come true. Because when I fell apart at finding out I’m Immortal, too, you still believed in me, even when I lost faith in myself. And whatever prophecy business is about, I know you’ll stand by me and help me figure it all out.”

Daeron gently caressed her face. _“De i velethril e-guil nîn,_ _Hind Calen.”_

“And you’re the love of mine,” she sniffed. “We’ll be waiting, babe.”

Turamarth was holding tight to Rhian’s hand when Daeron entered, closed the door behind him, and pulled up a chair.

“Are you ready?” she asked. “Take all the time you need, and you know we won’t repeat anything we hear.”

“Thank you, but some of it must be shared with Lord Thranduil and Lord Bard; it is very important.”

“Whatever you want,” Rhian assured him.

“Well, when I first entered the cave out there, and Saeros struck Evvy across the face, I exploded with rage because it reminded me of when I—,” he paused, “when _Pallando _forced me to assault her and rape her. It was… too familiar in a way I still do not understand.”

Tur swallowed. “And when I was trapped under the water, I…went back into that terrible Darkness, and it made relive those actions, over and over again.”

Concerned, Rhian rubbed his hand in both of hers. “You know that wasn’t really you, love, and Evvy was never really hurt by you. You know this.”

Turamarth stared down at their intertwined fingers and took several deep breaths. “I do know that, because someone came to help me.” He reached underneath his shirt and pulled out his Sun-Star and held it fast. 

“Who came? Lady Galadriel?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It was the first bearer of this jewel; the one who gave it to Lady Galadriel for safekeeping.” [3]

The couple stared at him, aghast. “You mean…” Daeron began—"

“The Lady Celebrian herself, yes.”[4] He gave them a watery smile. “She…” his voice broke in relief and happiness. “She banished the Shadow for me. What used to haunt me is now a just a harsh memory. It might bother me, but never again will I relive it in my mind, asleep or awake.” And with those last words, tears fell from his eyes from relief.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Rhian jumped up and threw her arms around him. “Oh, sweetie… I’m so happy for you, I just can’t begin to say how much!” 

Turamarth smiled into her shoulder and nodded his head. “I am happy for myself. And when you pointed out that I was able to hold Evvy’s hand…” he lifted his head. “I cannot say I will not suffer from the echoes of it, but, for the first time since we left Lothlórien, I have hope that I will get past all this.”

Daeron gently pushed his wife aside so he could have a turn and gathered Tur into his arms. “I have prayed for this, my beloved _Gwador_. Truly it is a miracle!”

When they all wiped their eyes and resumed their seats, Turamarth heaved a huge sigh. “There is much more I must tell you, and while you may find it hard to believe, the true cause of all this was not Saeros himself.”

“What?” Rhian’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking, right? That bloody bastard—”

“No, _Gwathel,_ I need to tell you that the same evil that attacked the Golden Wood was behind all this, as well.”

“That just can’t be,” Rhian’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that Blue Wizard dead?”

“He is,” Daeron’s eyes narrowed. “I was there, though I did not see it myself, several others can attest to Pallando’s destruction.” He doubtfully scrutinized his cousin’s face. “Tur, I am not sure you have a full grasp on things yet. Perhaps you need more rest…”

“No!” the Guardian shoved himself up to sit against the headboard of his bed. “I speak the truth, and I promise you will understand, but you have to listen!”

“All right, as long as you do not get overtired, yes?” Daeron poured him another glass of water and made him drink some of it, first. “Your throat must be dry; here.”

Once he took several sips, Tur set the cup aside and related the story of Saeros and truth behind the strange ring on his hand. When he was finished, Daeron and Rhian sat in stunned silence.

“That is…” Rhian whispered. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I feel sorry for that Elf.”

“We must tell the King about this, Tur,” Daeron said.

“I was hoping you would, but thank you for letting me tell you, first in private,” the Elf settled back down, exhausted from his efforts. “I only ask that you keep the first part of that to yourselves, please?”

“Of course, we will,” Rhian stood and tucked him in. “Get some more sleep, love.”

Then the couple, still dazed from what they just heard, went to find the Kings.

***************

“Are you hungry, _Meleth nîn_?” Thranduil asked, as they wandered along the hallways to head back to their chambers.

“Ravenous. And for some food, too,” Bard winked at him.

“I am sorry we were interrupted before, but I confess I am glad of the reason.”

“Oh, me too, love.” Bard nudged him. “These past two weeks have been a bumpy ride. But it’s all working out: Gildor’s kids are no worse for the wear, and even though we don’t quite know what the ring means, we do know Saeros can’t hurt anyone else with it. And it looks like those two in the infirmary will recover. It’s not a bad anniversary present, when you think about it.”

“True, but I would like to find some…private time for us to celebrate properly.”

“So… let’s go get some food…” Bard waggled his eyebrows.

“We could feed each other breakfast in bed?”

“Even better,” the Bowman leered at him and leaned in for a kiss.

Their lips almost touched, when they heard footsteps running toward them.

“My Lords!” Rhian lifted her skirts and rushed over to them, followed close behind by her husband.

“What is it?” Bard grabbed Thranduil’s arm. “Did something happen to Tur or Evvy?”

“No; they are doing well,” Daeron said. “Tur spoke at length to my wife and I, and he had some information that will shed a great deal of light on recent events.”

The Kings exchanged glances, before the Elvenking turned back to them. “And how would he know this?”

“He had an…” Rhian struggled, “I know you may not believe this, but he said that when he was… well, he met Lady Celebrian. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think he’s telling the truth, My Lord! He knows about stuff he couldn’t possibly have found out otherwise, and you really need to hear this!”

“Peace, child,” Thranduil placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “You do not need to convince Lord Bard or myself; we both have had such encounters and Turamarth would never lie about such things.” 

The young woman heaved a sigh of relief, “Oh, praise the stars…”

“Come with us, to our chambers, and we will speak in private. From there, we will decide what to do.” 

The Elvenking and his husband ushered the young couple to the Royal Wing, where Rhian recounted the story Celebrian revealed to Tur.

“You mean, this whole thing was _Pallando’s_ fault?” Bard’s jaw dropped. “Bloody f—, I mean, Holy Smokes… But he’s dead!”

“Yet cruel remnants of him remain,” the Elvenking said, sadly.

“Apparently so, My Lord,” Daeron sat next to his wife and put his arm around her shoulders. “It would certainly explain the sudden change in Saeros’s behavior when he was a child.”

“When Tur is rested, he can confirm these details, to you,” Daeron said. 

Bard put his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. “I wonder if this has anything to do with what Evvy wanted to tell you.”

“Of that I have no doubt, but we can leave things until they are both better rested.” He turned back to the couple. “Was there anything else he said?”

“Well,” Rhian shifted in her seat beside her husband. “There were other parts of his…dreams for want of a better word, but they have no bearing on this, and were told to us in confidence. They refer to his original injuries when he was in Lothlorien, My Lord.”

“My wife has been able to help my cousin in ways that…few can, if you get my meaning,” Daeron added.

“Oh…” Bard sighed softly, his eyes filled with compassion and sadness. “I see. Of course, you must keep that confidential, Rhian. But can I say how proud I am of you? That takes a lot of courage.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really do feel bad for Saeros,” she shook her head. “I mean, he did some terrible, awful things—”

”I am not so quick to forgive as my wife,” Daeron admitted. “Kinslaying is not something to be overlooked.”

“I agree, but at least we know the true villain here.” The Elvenking’s teeth clenched in anger. “Long has that servant of Sauron haunted my Kingdom and sought to destroy everything we hold dear. It was Pallando who arranged for the attempted kidnapping of my son, which resulted in the death of my wife.” [5]

“Oh…,” Rhian’s hand flew to her mouth. “I am so sorry to hear that, My Lord.”

“But that ring…” Bard murmured, “and the evil in it lingered even after Pallando’s death. How in blazes do we get rid of it? Think about it: what if that bastard left more of those trinkets lying around in your Kingdom?”

They were interrupted by a urgent knock at the door.

_“Neledâf!” _Thranduil called out, and Adamar entered the room and saluted.

“My Lord, an Eagle has arrived, bearing Mithrandir!”

“At last,” Thranduil shoulders drooped in relief.

“Took him long enough,” Bard jumped to his feet and pulled his husband up to stand. “I want to catch another glimpse of Lord Gwaihir!”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ci vilui,_ _Hîr nîn _– You are most kind, My Lord.

_Neledâf_ – Come in (Lit. “Permission to Enter”)

**NOTES:**

[1] _And Winter Came…_; Ch. 27: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/30568521>

[2] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 6: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/49342766>

[3] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 28: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/45143632>

[4] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 25: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/54219163>

[5] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 21: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/43856137>


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf FINALLY shows up, and he’s brought some unexpected guests to the Palace to help Thranduil get rid of that thing. Our beloved Wizard plays matchmaker again, and helps Evvy and Tur FINALLY have a much-needed conversation.
> 
> And we find out a bit more about those sparklies hanging around their necks…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s song comes from our good friend Golden; isn’t it great? And I want to say thanks to my friend Cygnus Rift for allowing me to borrow the elements of the work at the Forge from the Fabulous World called “Of Dust and Everlasting Stars.” It’s a wonderful Haldir/OC slow burn fic that is full of emotion and wonderful descriptions. Check it out!

** Chapter Twenty-Eight **

_“I don't want to play the waiting game_

_And drift away leaving an illusion_

_I don't want to hide, it's foolish pride_

_To close my eyes a touch away from wanting you_

_Don't try to look away when you're face to face_

_I see your eyes that animal emotion_

_You don't have to set your tender trap_

_It's in those eyes, it's going to happen anyway…”_

** _ Tonight  _ ** _ by** Def Leppard** _

**The Woodland Realm, 17th of December 2944 T.A.**

The Kings hurried along the passages to the Main Doors, which opened to admit the Wizard.

“Thranduil!” Gandalf waved, “Bard! I’m glad— _Bard?”_

The King of Dale dashed past him and ran outside, just in time to see the dark shape of the Eagles become smaller as they flew away.

“Oh, crumbs,” he sighed, as his face fell. He came in out of the cold to resume his place at his husband’s side. “I missed them again. Hello, Gandalf. We’re glad you’re here.”

“What took you so long?” the Elvenking demanded, once they were in his study. “Have you any idea what we have been dealing with here?”

“I was in Rivendell when I received your first message, then went to Lothlórien to discuss this with Galadriel. I also met with Celeborn and his party on the road and took measures to hasten his journey. They will be here in three days’ time.” The Wizard’s face pinched with frustration. “I’ve also had to argue with some very stubborn Dwarves, or I would have been here two days ago!”

“Dwarves?” Bard brows drew together in confusion. “What do they have to do with any of this?”

“We need to discuss that, but not until your guests arrive.”

“’Guests?’” Thranduil’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline, and he looked around him past the doors. “Who you have brought to my Kingdom!”

“Nobody yet; they insisted upon coming the old-fashioned way, no matter how much I tried to plead with them.”

“But who is coming, and what makes you think you have the right to invite people to _my_ Palace?”

“Who do you think?” the Wizard waved his arms impatiently. “I just mentioned Dwarves, didn’t I?”

_“Dwarves are coming here? _And you did not think to give me any sort of notice?”

“There was hardly any time,” Gandalf pursed his lips with impatience. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had Dwarves in your Palace, Thranduil.”

“Yes, but those were prisoners! I need to—“ the Elvenking rose from his chair.

“There’s no time for any of that today.” The Wizard grabbed Thranduil’s elbow. “Where is the ring?”

“Still on Saeros’s severed hand, in a thick box lined with mithril and sealed with a _Thurinlach,_ which only you or I can open.”

Gandalf nodded is approval. “And where is this box kept? Away from the others, I hope?”

“Down in the dungeons in the very last cell, and I have the only key,” the Elvenking took the object out of his pocket and handed it to the Wizard. “My guards are not to come within twenty-five feet of it.”

Bard studied their faces in growing apprehension. “How dangerous is that thing?”

“I had considered it to be the One Ring, but that’s highly unlikely, and for that we must all give thanks. Pallando was a servant of Sauron, and had he possessed it that which his master craves the most.”

“I don’t understand,” Bard said.

“Bard,” Thranduil said gently. “I do not mean to patronize, but the least you know, the better. Please, _Meleth nîn_; you must trust me.”

“As for the ring Saeros possessed, you are correct, Thranduil; it shouldn’t be handled by any Man, Elf or even me,” the Wizard sighed. “Now you said you have casualties; how are they?”

“I am happy to report that Turamarth and Evranin will make a complete recovery. They are resting in the infirmary, under Ivárë’s strict instructions. They did have some remarkable visions while they were unconscious, and you will want to hear about them.”

“Later, then, after they get a bit more rest. We have to wait for Daín anyway.”

Thranduil and Bard’s jaws dropped. “You mean the King of the Under the Mountain _himself_ is coming?” Bard exchanged a glance with his Elf, who had begun to fidget. “But there hasn’t been any sort of preparations made for this!”

“Nonsense, my friend,” Gandalf put his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. “How many times did you and Bard go to Erebor before your own diplomatic visit? I called upon the Dwarves for help, because their race is resistant to such things, and they have the skill to properly dispose of it. Even if they can’t completely destroy it here, they can dispel much of its power to make it safe to travel near Dale, so they can throw it in one of Erebor’s bottomless pits.”

“Mithrandir, if you will excuse us, I really do need to make some accommodations for Daín’s arrival. Your usual rooms in the Royal Wing are unoccupied and always at the ready. Please, make yourself at home, and get a little rest yourself; you look like you need it.”

“You’ll need to make more arrangements than just for Daín,” Gandalf’s mouth curved upwards. “Celeborn and his party will be here in a few days, and I believe Daín is bringing a guest of their own.”

“Who?” Bard asked.

But the Wizard just grinned and would say no more.

“Looks like we’re doomed.” Bard sighed when Gandalf left. “So much for private celebrations, love.”

“I _will _have you, before the day is out,” Thranduil promised softly. “Even if we have to lock ourselves in the closet.”

“Mmm…” Bard grinned. “That sounds like fun.”

Thranduil rose, took Bard into his arms, and gave him a deep, long kiss. “I may even let you break furniture, just his once.”

“Promises, promises,” the Bowman grinned.

***************

Evranin opened her eyes again with a sigh. Her vision followed the graceful lines of the wood on the ceiling of her room in the infirmary with its carved, meandering vines so prevalent in all the architecture of King Thranduil’s Palace. She had always loved waking high in the trees of Lothlórien, where the sun shone through the waving leaves of the Mallorn trees, but in the months since she had been in the Woodland Realm, Evvy had learned to appreciate the delights of living under the ground as well as above it.

The cobwebs that dulled her senses had been blown away and the memory of her audience in the Halls of Mandos came back to her in a rush. She had actually stood before Lord Námo himself! And Lady Nienna had been so kind to come to her aid, as well as Lady Vairë. But what was most astounding was her mother. Vériel had never looked more beautiful, now that she had finally found true happiness with her husband, Malach. 

But Saeros… she had things she needed to share with King Thranduil as soon as possible…

She moaned softly, as she tried to sit up.

“Not so fast, _Aewpin_,” a warm hand lay upon her chest to keep her down. Airen, her best friend and kinswoman sat beside her bed, an open book on the small table, and a shirt she was mending in her lap. “Let yourself wake up a bit more, then I will help you. Your father and Orlin are on their way, and should be here soon, along with Lord Celeborn. We’ve all been so worried about you, _Mellon_.”

“H… how long have I been asleep?”

“This time? Four hours or so. You woke up briefly; do you remember?”

Evvy blinked, then shook her head.

“Daeron said that was to be expected,” Airen smiled at her friend. “The Kings were here, of course, and you spoke to them briefly. Rhian and Daeron,” she carefully searched Evvy’s face, “brought Tur in, too.”

“Tur was here?” Now this time Evranin insisted on sitting up. Airen dropped her mending and jumped up to place a couple of pillows behind her shoulders. “What did he say?”

“I wasn’t there, but Rhian said he was overjoyed to see you open your eyes.”

_“He did?”_ Evvy’s eyes bulged.

“That he did. Rhian squealed with delight when she told me,” Airen giggled, then became serious. “She only told me, Evvy; and I will not say anything to anyone.”

The _Elleth_ let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Thank you. It is just that… it is all so new… and we have hardly spoken.”

“I know, _Mellon_ _nîn_,” Airen leaned over to hug her, and kissed the top of her head. “Oh! I remember how I was before Elion declared his love for me!” she settled back into her chair and picked up the sewing and threw it on the table. “We were both so…” she smiled and looked off into space, “deliciously unsure and anxious around each other; all those times we sought each other across the room, and when our eyes met, we’d look away and pretend we were not!”

“Turamarth and I did that at Rhian and Daeron’s wedding,” Evvy admitted. “Then, he took me to the park with his nephew that day…”

“He did?” Airen’s eyes danced. “I did not hear this story!”

“It was just after the wedding. You and Elion had to return to your duties here, but it was a sunny, beautiful day….” Evvy laughed as she recounted the disaster when Darryn had an accident and needed his clothes changed. “Thank goodness Mistress Seren came along to rescue us, but when the baby realized he didn’t have his favorite blanket with him, oh was he upset!” 1

_“Ai, gorgor!”_ Airen held her stomach, as she laughed.

Evvy’s face became serious. “When we traveled back home, Orlin guessed about my feelings and he told me he was pleased. 2 I had such high hopes, Airen,” she swallowed. “Then Mahtan was murdered, and they blamed Tur, and it all fell apart.” 3

“Oh, _Aewpîn nîn…” _Airen sat beside her on the bed and put her arms around her friend. “Things will be fine.”

“But how do you know?” Evvy’s voice shook. “Too much has happened!”

“Yet you still have deep feelings for him, do you not?” Aired held her at arm’s length and looked deep into her brown eyes. “Has that changed?”

“N-no, but when he was hurt in Lothlórien, they wouldn’t even let me see him!” she sobbed. “And when I came to Dale, h-he wouldn’t even touch me! I do not understand what I have done to him that was so terrible they had to keep me away? What did I do wrong, Airen?”

“Shh…” her friend laid her head on her shoulder and rocked her gently. “You did nothing wrong, _Mellon_ _nîn_. Nothing at all. And I do believe Turamarth still cares deeply for you. Did he not defend you from Saeros? Did he not risk his own life to try and rescue you when you drowned?”

“But he is a Guardian; he would do that anyway. And it was King Thranduil that pulled me out of the water, not Tur.”

“You know what I mean, Evvy,” Airen said firmly. “Now I know you are still weak, and that makes your fears seem insurmountable right now, but you are his One, I know it. And he is yours, yes?”

“I do, but we hardly know each other! How can I feel so much for someone I have barely had the chance to know? And even now, he struggles to even touch me, let alone look at me!”

“That is not true,” came a male voice, and both _Ellyth_ turned toward the speaker.

Turamarth was standing in the doorway, supported by none other than Mithrandir.

“Oh…” Evvy’s jaw went slack and she could feel her cheeks burn as Turamarth leaned heavily on the doorway. “I am sorry—”

“Do not be,” the Wizard said gently. “May we come in for a while?”

“Here; take my chair,” Airen quickly got to her feet, grabbed her things and offered him her chair. “I will leave you to visit; you have a great many things to talk about.”

“Airen, you do not have to go,” Evvy hissed, her heart pounding so hard it bruised the inside of her ribcage.

“Oh, I think I do,” she grinned mischievously. “Mithrandir has things well in hand, I think. I will see you tomorrow.” And with a quick kiss to Evvy’s cheek, she flounced out of the room.

Both Elves were overcome with shyness and looked everywhere in the room but at each other.

“I was in here before,” Turmarth offered. “When they woke you up.”

“Yes, Airen told me,” Evvy responded shyly. “I am sorry I do not remember much about that.”

“I am not surprised, after what you had been through.”

“On impulse she raised her head and met his eyes. They were tired, but the dull grey of grief was almost gone, allowing the beautiful turquoise color to shine through. “You look a lot better, Tur,” she cleared her throat.

“Thank you.”

“It is a miracle you are still here, Evranin,” the Wizard interjected. “The efforts to save you are nothing less than heroic, did you know that?”

Evvy stared at the Wizard in surprise. 

“You had been in the water for over twenty minutes, and when Lord Thranduil pulled you out of the water, you _were_ frozen. Your heart had stopped, and you were dead for over an hour. Yet Daeron refused to stop trying to revive you, despite the others advising him to let you go.” 4

“They did?”

Turamarth’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Evvy, I am sorry for all that we have been through, for all that you suffered, since…”

“I did not suffer nearly as much as you,” she responded softly. 

“But you think my…difficulty was _your_ fault,” his voice roughened. “I swear to you it was not! If it takes the rest of my days, I will not stop until you know that.”

The Wizard decided it was time to lighten the mood a bit. “I have it on good authority you both have some extraordinary tales to tell.” His thick, grey eyebrows didn’t hide the piercing, knowing blue of his gaze, as they fell upon Turamarth. “Daeron took the liberty of sharing your story with me.”

“You?” she met Tur’s eyes with surprise. “What happened?”

“I think that is something he will share with you, in his own time, my dear, but I need to hear yours.” Mithrandir gave her an encouraging smile. “Now, please; begin at the beginning and try to remember every detail.

And so, she did. Evvy spoke of her meeting with the Lord Námo, and the interruption from his sister Nienna and his wife, her mother Vériel rushing in to demand her daughter’s return, and her new life on the shores of Valinor.

When Evranin spoke of what she learned about Saeros and the ring he was given, Turamarth sat up straighter and said, “That is the same tale Lady Celebrian told me!”

Mithrandir slumped his shoulders with relief. “Thank the Stars.”

“Why do you say this?”

“Because now I am certain the trinket Saeros possessed was not…” he shook himself. 

“Not what?” Turamarth leaned forward in his chair.

“Nothing either of you should be worried about. Never mind.”

“’Trinket,’ you called it?” Evvy said angrily. “That ring that turned Saeros into a monster!”

“I will know more when I see it, but from what you have told me, it sounds like one of the Lesser Rings forged by the elves, during the Second Age, when Sauron was in disguise and went by the name of Mairon. 5 6 Those were perilous to Men, and he used them to influence the rulers of Númenor to do his bidding, but an Elven child would be equally susceptible, to its evils.”

“But why would Pallando do such a thing to a child?” Evvy asked. 

“To amuse himself,” Mithrandir smiled at her sadly. “It is hard for someone with such kind sensibilities to fathom such an act, Evranin, and for your own sake, I would ask you not to try. 

“Now,” the Wizard continued, “I am told you were given a gift, from the great Lady Nienna?” Mithrandir leaned forward. May I see it, my dear?”

The _Elleth_ unfastened the necklace and placed it and the diamond encrusted handkerchief in the Wizard’s hand. He marveled over them, but when he held up the large diamond, the sun caught its light and reflected the colors of the rainbow on the clean white walls of the room.

“It is beautiful,” Turamarth whispered, with awe in his voice.

“Absolutely enchanting…”

“Lady Nienna said it was a gift from Saeros; she helped him make it.”

_“He_ gave this to you?” Turamarth’s posture became tense and his face blanched. “Are you sure it is safe?”

“Of course, it is!” the Wizard assured him. “Do you think any of the Valar would allow Evvy to have it if it wasn’t? No, Guardian, this chain was forged with sorrow and regret in every link, and Nienna herself placed one of her own tears in the pendant. I promise you; it is perfectly safe.”

“So, it is his way of apologizing?” the _Ellon_ said warily. 

“Yes, and no,” Mithrandir held up the silver silk handkerchief and smiled, then folded it carefully and placed it in Evvy’s hand. “This is a treasure of your house, child. There is none like it in all of Middle Earth. And as for this,” the Wizard gave her back the necklace, helped her refasten it. “I think you understand, now, Evvy. Why don’t you tell Turamarth about this?”

“Yes, Saeros is truly sorry, but…” she struggled for words. “I think this,” she dragged the pendant back and forth on its smooth chain, “I feel strength…”

“And?” Mithrandir encouraged, “What else do you sense, my dear?”

“Well…” her brows furrowed in concentration.

“No, child; relax, close your eyes and listen,” the Wizard said softly. “Do not guess; let it tell you.”

Evranin did as she was bid, and something warm and wonderful blossomed in her breast. “Hope!”

“Exactly!” Mithrandir clasped his hands together in approval. “That which you bear is _Gîl-cýron_, the Moon Star.”

_“’Cýron_ actually means ‘New Moon…’” Tur added.

“Your gift offers you a new beginning. There is power in that jewel, just as there is in the one Turamarth bears.” He turned to smiled at the Guardian. “Might we see it, Tur?”

The Elf reached inside his shirt and pulled out the yellow diamond on his golden chain.

“Indeed, it is a marvel. Tur and Evvy, would it surprise you to learn these jewels, the Sun and the Moon are also destined to be joined?”

The _Elleth_ and the _Ellon_ stared at the Wizard with wide, incredulous eyes.

“Oh, I do love matchmaking,” he smiled. “But in this case, I am merely doing the Valar’s bidding, for the two of you are meant to be together!”

Turamarth’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, and he stared stupidly at Mithrandir.

“You mean…” Evvy croaked.

“Exactly!” The Wizard threw back his head and laughed. He took Evvy’s hand and reached for Tur’s. 

“Haven’t you wondered why so much has conspired to keep you two apart?” he asked. “By giving you these jewels, Nienna and Celebrian were doing the bidding of _Eru_ _Ilúvitar_ himself!”

Evvy gasped.

“The light of the sun,” he nodded to Tur’s rectangular yellow diamond, “brings warmth and healing, while the light of the moon,” he smiled at Evvy’s brilliant, round stone, “offers strength and hope. And you will learn to use them together. In fact,” his face grew serious, “the first opportunity will arise sooner than you think.”

A strangled croak came escaped the Guardian’s mouth. _“Eru…”_

“Don’t you see?” Mithrandir grinned. “Can you imagine what can happen when those two can finally work together? Neither one of you thought much of yourselves, have you? 

He turned to the Guardian and said, “You’ve always lived in Daeron’s shadow without a hint of resentment or jealousy. Nay, your place was to hold him up, while he used the gifts the Valar gave him, but he has Rhian, now. Turamarth, son of Ómar, soon it will be _your_ time to shine.”

“Thank you, Mithrandir,” the _Ellon_ said quietly. “But I do nothing for glory or praise; I do what I do to protect my King and my people.”

“Aye, and that is what makes you extraordinary, and, I suspect that is why the young _Elleth_ here is proud of you. But you’ll discover the entire truth in time; there is still more that must be endured, though nothing nearly as bad as your recent adventures.”

“Endured?” Tur blanched.

“Nothing so terrible. This will only require some patience, that is all.”

“What do you mean?”

Mithrandir crooked an eyebrow at her. “Evvy? I think there is something you need to tell him. About your father?”

“My _Naneth_ told me that _Ada_ is not well at all. He would not allow Orlin to write and tell me so, but,” her lips trembled. “I… cannot stay here, Tur. I am sorry, but I must return to Lothlórien and help him get well.”

“You do know they are on their way here?” the Wizard told her. 

“Yes; Airen told me,” her throat became tight. “I am glad; I have missed them very much.”

“Öhtar lacked the strength to ride with me on the Eagles; otherwise he would be here, already.”

Evvy’s face crumpled. _“Ai, gorgor!” __Ada_ lost me and _Naneth_ at the same time...”

“It is all right,” Tur said softly. “You must go where you are needed.”

“And you will, but for now...” Mithrandir took the hands he held and placed them together and covered them with his own. “The Sun warms and heals, the Moon strengthens and dreams. Do you see now?”

Evranin looked into Turamarth eyes and saw the truth in the Wizard’s words. His fingers were cold and shaky, at first, but the joy of her touch calmed him and sent warmth surging through his fingers. The weakness in her chest, and in her limbs lightened and the small tendrils of trauma that still lingered in her body floated away, leaving her truly whole.

She twisted her hand so their fingers could intertwine and squeezed. “It will be all right, Tur.” She whispered. 

Tears were streaming down his face. “Yes.” He brought their hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “For the first time in months, I can truly believe it.”

***************

Thranduil and Bard stood with Mithrandir and the rest of the Council of the Woodland Realm while the horns announced the arrival of the King Under the Mountain.

And Daín indeed had brought guests. Well, one, to be exact.

Bard helped the Queen Under the Mountain down from her seat. “It is an honor to see you again, Your Majesties; welcome to the Halls of the Woodland Realm.” He bowed low at the waist.

“Enough of this prissin’ & posturin’” Daín grinned at Bard. “Where is that damned thing?”

“It would have been taken care of already if only you’d have just ridden with me on Gwaihir,” Mithrandir rolled his eyes. 

“As if I’d get up on tha’ great bloody bird! Ye think the Original Company enjoyed their ride from tha’ mountain top a few years ago? Balin still ha’ nightmares, an’ when tha Eagle landed on the bridge afore the Big Doors, I tho’ he’d piss hisself.” Daín wagged his finger in Gandalf’s face. “If Dwarves were meant to fly, they’da been born wi’wings!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Queen Dilna smirked. “He canna even ride in a rowboat without getting sick o’er the side. He’d be tossin’ his lunch all o’er yon trees if he’d gone with the Wizard. Personally, I’d love to ha’ a go; wouldna tha’ be some thin’, no’!”

A guffaw burst out from Bard, but at Dáin’s scowl, he quickly covered it with a cough. 

“Come along,” the Elvenking spread his arms and waved everyone to the Throne room. “We need to meet in my Council Chambers for a short time, then I will take you to… the item.”

Once they shared the orgins of the Ring, Thranduil asked Daín, “while I truly welcome you to my Halls, I wonder why you came yourself, when any Dwarven smith might have undertaken this task?”

“But tisna just any job, is it?” Daín said seriously. “I ken what Gandalf said abou’ this bein’ a ‘Lesser Ring’ and all, but I’ll no’ risk the life o’ ma smithees if it turn’s o’ te be worse.”

“And I’ll no’ let anyone else help ‘I’m.” Dilna nodded. “Ah’m just as good at the forges as he is, and he’s no’ doing it alone, no ma’er wha’ he says.”

A rush of respect came over Thranduil; he’d done the same on countless occasions; led an army from the front, not hang back in the rear, when any sort of execution was necessary, he insisted upon carrying out the deed himself, rather than let anyone else bear that burden.

“So,” Daín crawled down from his tall chair and clapped his hands together. “Let’s ge’ this show on the road, as they say. Take us te it.”

The Kings took the Dwarves down to the cell at the very end of the hall, and the guards were well away from it. Even so, the Elvenking had ordered shift changes every two hours, rather than every ten. As they approached the cell, it was apparent to him that the mithril box did not completely prevent the soft throbs of power from pulsing into the air. 

“Bard,” he said, “you may be susceptible to this, and it is best not to take a chance; I need you to leave, now.”

The Bowman opened his mouth to protest, but Gandalf nodded is head in agreement. “We don’t know for certain, but now is not the time to find out.”

“’e’s right, laddie,” Daín said. “Get ye gone, no’.”

Reluctantly, Bard nodded his head and walked back up the stairs. 

Thranduil addressed the four guards. “Just in case, do not allow the King of Dale to come within one hundred feet of that box, even if you have to stop him by force.”

“Yes, My Lord,” they saluted and left.

Thranduil stepped forward with the key and opened the cell, where the plain wooden box sat on the cot that came out from the wall.

Mithrandir took a deep breath, entered the cell, followed by Daín and Dilna. His hand hovered over the top, as he murmured the spell to release the lid. “Open it, Daín.” He said.

The King Under the Mountain lifted the lid and found the hand of Saeros, bearing the dark metal ring. Even after a week, the flesh on the hand had not corrupted. It was still pink and supple, as if the heart still pumped blood through its veins and capillaries. 

“Ah’ll be damned…” was all the Dwarf-King said. “I understand, no’. Shut the box.”

Gandalf fastened the steel latch and repeated the _Thurinlach._

“I don’t think we should do this indoors,” Dilna thoughtfully stroked her beard. She turned to face Thranduil and asked. “Have ye got a’ outside forge?”

“We do; near the barns, to keep the horses shod.”

“Ye’ll want te clear out the animals and any of yer people. We’ll do wha’ we can ‘ere, get rid o’ the worst o’ it, but we’ll have to take it back home to finish it off fer good.”

“Will that be safe for you?” the Elvenking asked.

“Oh, aye; well enough. See, we’ll pound that metal down to shards, and release the spell, but if it won’t melt completely, we’ll have to take it to Erebor an’ drown it in our big pit.”

“But will that not come too close to Dale and it’s people?”

The Dwarf-King nodded reluctantly. “Ah’ll do everythin’ ah can. Best we ge’ started.”

“I will see it done,” Thranduil promised, and within an hour, all was ready.

The air in the grotto-forge was hot, the air thick with the usual smell of coal-dust and molten iron. But there was a strange reek also, one that was growing more potent with each additional hammer stroke.

Amid the clang of the anvil and the familiar whoosh of bellows, Thranduil drew nearer to the fireclay furnace, and watched as Daín brought his mighty hammer down on the hand bearing the Ring, smashing the flesh as if it were jelly, letting it catch on fire, leaving only the dark ring among the bones of its finger. Daín and Dilna worked in tandem as, with each powerful strike, they burned away the poison embedded in the very metal it had been forged with.

Instead of a fiery orange, the ring glowed a pale, sickly green. And like a sickness, the color would spread every time the hammer fell, tainting the fires until all was aglow in this strange and unnatural light.

The King and Queen Under the Mountain lifted their eyes from the object on the anvil and exchanged a worried look with the King and the Wizard.

This was worse than they had thought. The magic had been released into the air, but hung in a heavy green cloud over the area, waiting to strike.

“Thranduil,” Mithrandir took his arm. “You need to sing. All your people need to sing. Now!”

With a nod to his guards to go back to the Palace and summon as many Elves possible, the Elvenking lifted his palms to the air and called upon the Valar, the power of the Turuhalmë, the Solstice, asking the Winter Sun and the Moon to look kindly upon his Kingdom and free them from the sick, green Evil that had cursed Saeros for almost all his life, that had been brought into his very Palace, this stench that had slithered unknowingly among his people, waiting to strike.

His voice was joined by the other Elves in the vicinity, and he could feel the song echoing throughout his halls. They were singing of their land, asleep under its white blanket of snow, and of the green goodness of spring, with the prayer that one day, all of the Woodland Realm will be whole again. 

***************

In the Healing Hall, Tur and Evvy sat together, their hands still joined, as they looked out the window in her room and enjoyed the early evening light sparkle over the clean blanket of snow.

When the singing started their eyes met, and instinctively, Tur reached up with his other hand and grasped his _Gîl-Naur _adding his prayer, while Evvy, never looking away from him, did the same.

Neither one of them noticed the evening sky, where the setting sun and the rising moon hung together, shining down upon the Woodland Realm. The Maia Tilion, keeper of the Moon had always loved Arien, Warden of the Sun. 7 And on this night, Arien stopped her labors in the sky to dwell alongside her lover for a little while.

Together, Ithil and Arien, Sun and the Moon, Silver and Gold combined their power and cast their light over the Woodland Realm.

And the foul green air lifted far above the Woodland Realm, disintegrated completely, and the last traces of Evil Pallando had cursed upon Middle Earth was gone forever.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Aewpîn_ – Tiny bird,” Orlin’s pet name for Evranin

_Gîl-Naur_ – Sun-Star, the necklace given to Tur by Galadriel to bring him help.

_Gîl-cýron_ \- Moon Star, Evvy’s necklace made by Nienna and the now-redeemed Saeros.

_Thurinlach_ – A spell an Elf places to ensure only the intended recipient will receive some sort of message. It can be placed over a box, or over a seal. 

**NOTES:**

[1] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 11: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/42259295>

[2] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 14: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/42790034>

[3] Ibid.; Ch. 17: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/43245425>

[4] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 21: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53127007>

[5] From Tolkien Gateway: <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Lesser_rings>

[6] “In Eregion long ago many Elven Rings were made, magic rings as you call them, and they were, of course, of various kinds: some more potent and some less. The lesser rings were only essays in the craft before it was full-grown, and to the Elvensmiths, they were only trifles – yet still to my mind dangerous to mortals.” - The Fellowship of the Ring; Chapter Two, Shadow of the Past.

[7] <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Tilion>


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, our Kings get to be alone to properly celebrate their Anniversary.  
.  
Ah, but you know what they say about making plans...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, everyone; be careful as you can with your safety, until we can weather this storm.
> 
> Let us all follow the examples of those in Italy, who, while confined to their homes, still sing from their terraces and shine their light upon others.
> 
> Let us be kind, and patient with one another, especially those poor retail workers to have to deal with panicked customers who want to fight over what remains on the shelves. Who are forced to come in to contact with the public and handle germ-filled money, while still being polite.
> 
> Let us pray for health-care workers all over the world who bravely show up at work to look after patients, despite the lack of safety equipment. 
> 
> Let us get through all of this together.

* * *

> _“GAAAAAH!” _
> 
> _I was peacefully asleep when I found myself flying through the air and landing with an unceremonious thump on the floor beside my bed followed by an avalanche of blankets. “What the hell?”_
> 
> _There, clutching a corner of my duvet stood Thranduil, whose thick, dark brows were lowered in a scowl, and beside him was the King of Dale with his fists jammed into his hips, and a face that matched that of his husband._
> 
> _“Do you know what day this is?” the Elvenking asked._
> 
> _“Sure… It’s March 15th; why?”_
> 
> _“March?” Bard spat. “It’s bad enough you didn’t let us celebrate our Anniversary, but do you seriously mean to tell me that three whole months have passed since we even had sex?”_
> 
> _“No, no, no…” I snatched the heavy blanket out of Thranduil’s hand and crawled back up on my bed and pulled it back over my legs. “You misunderstand. Today in my world it’s March 15th, but in the story, it’s still December 17th. It’s fine, really!”_
> 
> _“’Fine,’ she says,” the Bowman waved his arms around, sarcastically. “Oh, well, if that’s all it takes… Funny how you purposely wrote all that stuff to keep us from each other. Couldn’t you have had Daín and Dilna come tomorrow? And,” Bard waved a finger in my face, “you know how much I wanted to see the Eagles again! To have Gwaihir and Landroval fly away before I could even talk to them was just plain mean! Why would you do that?”_
> 
> _“Well, I kind of wrote way back in An Invincible Summer that you would never see them again, and—”_
> 
> _“You what? Why would you do such a thing?”_
> 
> _“Because I thought it was eloquent!” I threw my hands up. “Just something to say, I suppose.”_
> 
> _“So, you can fix it then,” Bard’s right eyebrow flew up and his mouth pursed. “Just go back and…unwrite it.”_
> 
> _“And let us celebrate our anniversary!” Thranduil demanded. “I demand it!”_
> 
> _“Well, you see, it’s not that simple—”_
> 
> _“What do you mean by that? You are the writer; you can make this happen any time you wish,” the Elvenking leaned toward me menacingly._
> 
> _“Don’t,” Bard hissed, as his arm shot out and pulled the Elf back. “If you make her mad enough, she’ll write our cocks to shrivel up and fall off, or something.” He raised his hands in a soothing manner to his husband. “Stick to the plan, love. We talked about this.”_
> 
> _“I would have if you had not been distracted with the Eagles, Bard! We did not,” he raised his fingers and made air quotations, “’discuss’ that, did we?”_
> 
> _“Okay, you’re right about that, but we don’t get to talk to Wenderful all that often, and it was something I wanted to ask.”_
> 
> _“Bard!” Thranduil snapped. “Our sex life is much more important than a play date with those giant birds!”_
> 
> _“Please, guys,” I sat up straighter. “Don’t fight. I’m sorry. Now, as for this chapter, don’t forget that Gandalf is now at the Palace, and you’ve got the King and Queen Under the Mountain there, too. And didn’t they just do your Kingdom an enormous favor by getting rid of that blasted ring?”_
> 
> _The Elvenking rested his fingers against his chin. “I suppose so…”_
> 
> _“And I’m sorry but you’re just going to have to play host this evening. You can’t just abandon your VIPs for a tumble in the sheets, can you?”_
> 
> _“Oh, shit…” Bard’s face fell, and his shoulders hunched. “You’re going to make us wait, aren’t you?”_
> 
> _“Now I didn’t exactly say that... Thranduil?” I asked with increasing alarm. “What are you doing?”_
> 
> _The Elf had turned completely around and opened the door to my closet. _
> 
> _“This is not too small…” he said._
> 
> _“Really?” Bard turned and looked over his shoulder. “But it’s full of clothes and boxes…”_
> 
> _“Now just wait a minute!” I threw the blankets back and jumped onto my feet—_
> 
> _But it was too late. A hurricane of clothes on hangers, plastic Sterilite containers and my huge Rubbermaid trunk was spilling out into my room. I ducked as the box containing my hot rollers barely missed my head. _
> 
> _“Hey!” I yelled. “You could have hurt me!”_
> 
> _“Not our problem,” Bard said casually over his shoulder. “If you aren’t going to let us have great closet sex in this chapter, we’ll commandeer this one. Hand me those pillows.”_
> 
> _Shocked into submission, I handed them over. “You aren’t seriously going to…”_
> 
> _“Needs must,” the Elvenking said smugly as he reached over and snatched the heavy duvet and my quilt off the bed. “Do you happen to have any oil, or lotion?”_
> 
> _“Uh… I’ve got a tube of Aquaphor here by my bed…”_
> 
> _“What is that?”_
> 
> _“Petroleum jelly,” I held up the tube. “My hands get really cracked this time of year.”_
> 
> _Thranduil examined the tube and squeezed out a small amount. “It will do nicely.” He grabbed Bard’s wrist, and in they went._
> 
> _Just before the door shut, I remembered something. “Hey, you two!”_
> 
> _“What now?” Thranduil asked impatiently._
> 
> _“She’s such a cockblock isn’t she?” Bard muttered._
> 
> _“Where’s the coffee from Adila’s you promised to bring me last time?”_
> 
> _The Elvenking skewered me with a look matched the cold air outside. “We will bring it when you have earned it,” he said. “Until then, get your own. And see to it we are not disturbed, is that clear?”_
> 
> _Then he slammed the door in my face._

...and that's when I woke up...

* * *

_“As my life goes on, I believe_

_Somehow something's changed_

_Something deep inside, a part of me_

_There's a strange new light in my eyes_

_Things I've never known_

_Changing my life, changing me_

_I've been searching so long_

_To find an answer_

_Now I know my life has meaning…”_

_ By **Chicago** _

**The Woodland Realm, 17th of December 2944 T.A.**

“How are you, love?” Bard put his arm around Thranduil’s waist after he entered the Palace. “How did it go?”

“The singing was the final fillip that did away with that bilious cloud of evil,” the Elvenking sighed with relief, then stiffened. “Are you all right, Bard?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I watched from a window and saw the whole thing from a distance,” he couldn’t hold back a shudder. “I didn’t feel a thing, to be honest. I mean, when we were down in the Dungeons, I could feel some sort of… I don’t know… pulsing, and that didn’t feel great.”

“That is why I needed you to leave, _Meleth nîn_. As a child of Man, you could have easily been swept up in this dark magic.”

“And I appreciate it, love, I do, but I don’t think I am as susceptible as you think; don’t forget, I’m no longer Mortal. But when you did that, it got me to thinking, and while you and the Dwarves were busy, I arranged for all the Dale fosterlings and their parents to gather in the other end of the Palace, far away from that thing. I just gave the order to let them return to their homes.”

The Elvenking stopped and turned to him, and the ocean of his eyes stared deeply into his. “I… did not think of that…” he grasped Bard’s upper arms with great relief. “Are they all right?”

“They are. And before you start to panic, keep in mind that Gildor’s kids were exposed to that thing and they haven’t suffered any ill effects from it, and you’ve had that thing safely tucked away since we found it.”

“True,” Thranduil softly admitted, “but I cannot help but wonder at everyone’s exposure while Saeros was in the Palace all those years.”

“Oh, I wondered about that, too. I asked Elrohir, and he believes that while Saeros possessed it, he contained the magic by his will. When his life was ended, that’s when the ring was at it’s most dangerous; looking for a new master.”

“Yes; that makes sense,” Thranduil pulled Bard into his arms and the Bowman could sense the Elf’s deep fatigue. “Thank you for looking after my people.”

“Well, strictly speaking,” he pulled back and gave him a peck on the lips, “those kids are _my_ people. But yes, as your consort, I’ll use that authority to keep your people as safe as you do with mine. I love you,” he said, tenderly. 

“And I love you,” the Elf smiled and kissed him again. “Can we go to our chambers now, and truly celebrate our anniversary?”

“Are you sure you’re not too tired?”

“I am never to tired to be with you, _Hervenn nîn.”_

The Kings made their way through the Palace, hands intertwined, with Thranduil leaning his head on Bard’s shoulder. The Elves they encountered in their path all bowed and saluted, with polite smiles, but thankfully did not hinder them. 

At last, they reached the Royal Wing and walked down the polished floors of the wide hallway. When they reached the last door to the right, they nodded to their guards.

“See that Lord Bard and I are not disturbed for the rest of the evening,” Thranduil ordered Ivran.

“And send for some food,” the Bowman added. “I’m starved.”

Ivran exchanged a nervous glance with Elion, before he said, “I am afraid that may not be possible, _Hîr nîn_.”

“And there is plenty of food in your chambers already,” Elion shifted to and fro as he stared at his feet.

“I do not know what you mean…” the Elvenking opened the door—

“Surprise!” came the shout, jarring the Kings.

***************

Gandalf, Legolas, Daín and Dilna were gathered in their sitting room, and a large platter of fruit, sweetbreads, with creamy honey-butter, cheese and cold ham and venison sat on the dining table, next to several bottles of wine, whiskey and several glasses.

“Happy Anniversary!” Gandalf held up his wineglass in a salute. “Three years ago, today, I presided over your nuptials, didn’t I?”

“Aye,” Bard said, with a lukewarm smile, “you sure did.” He blinked up at his Thranduil, “Well, we might as well get something to eat, yeah?”

“Hmmm…” Thranduil’s growled softly.

His Bowman leaned into him and whispered. “But I’d much rather be eating _you.”_

Shivers of desire ran through the Elvenking’s body, and his cock stood up to take notice. Then he looked up and met the cornflower-blue eyes of his son.

And what went up, just as quickly went down. He just couldn’t think of hot sex in the presence of his son.

_Ai, Amarth faeg…_ This time, his low growl meant something different.

“Oh, it was the sweetest little ceremony,” the Wizard was saying to Legolas and the Dwarven couple. “Just the family and a few friends…” he and their guests made themselves comfortable on the couches, settling in for a long evening. 

“…and I’ll never forget the time Marshal Léod, Third Marshal of the Mark first laid eyes on Lady Grete…” Mithrandir’s wine sloshed as he waved his hand in the air. “Oh, yes, Bard; I’d love some more. Now, where was I?”

“Lady Grete,” Thranduil said, with as much courtesy as he could muster. “You have already told us about introducing Lord Déor, First Marshall to his wife, the Lady Agnetha, and King Fengel, to Queen—”

“Oh, well, one can’t win them all, can they? But Thengel’s marriage to Lady Morwen, more than makes up for that, does it not? An excellent match of wits and intelligence, and since Thengel is nothing like his father, there is great love between them.”

“I am happy for them,” the Elvenking held up his glass.

“I heard Gandalf got the two of you together,” Legolas, who was fascinated to hear all these stories, asked King Daín.

“No, he didn’t introduce us,” Daín began—

“But he helped us get away to marry,” Dilna finished triumphantly. “Lord Naín had Daín all set up to marry some daughter of a distant cousin from the Blue Mountains, but neither one of ‘em wanted it.”

Daín took a big swig of his whisky. “Seonag was a nice enough Dwarrow, but she had eyes for one of the swordsmiths there, an’ o’ course, I ‘ad fell in love wi’ Dilna. And wasna she a bonny lass back then?”

“Oh? I’m no’ a bonny lass now?” Dilna smack his arm.

“O’ course ye are, love,” the King Under the Mountain put his arm around his wife and kissed her cheek.

The Wizard emptied his glass and poured out another. “I manufactured a diversion to help these two lovebirds escape to Erebor, where King Thror himself was waiting to marry them. What could Naín say after that?”

“Oh, he had plenty to say, and none of it good,” Dilna rolled her eyes, “but he came around in the end.”

“Abo’ thirty years later, Seonag came wi’ her husband, to the Iron Hills,” Daín shuddered. “All ah can say is praise Durin ah wed Dilna, and not her!” the King Under the Mountain made a face.

“Daín!” Dilna smacked him with the back of her hand.

“No, he’s right,” the Wizard hiccupped. “Queen Dilna only improves with age!” He slumped against the back the couch, his eyes beginning to droop. 

Legolas tactfully cleared his throat and rose. “Come, Mithrandir; I will escort you to your quarters.”

“Thank you,” the Wizard allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and when he swayed, the young Elf’s arm caught him around the waist.

“Aye, I think that’s our cue, as well,” Dilna put down her glass, scooted forward and landed on her feet. “Come on, love; I think these two want to be alone now.”

“Good night,” Thranduil stood and bowed low to the Dwarven couple. “I cannot thank you enough for your help today.”

“Nae, ye canna,” Daín belched loudly, “but we’re the Kings o’ the North, an ah ken you’ll do the same fer us, should the need arise.”

“Of course, we will,” Bard bowed. “Have a pleasant night.”

Thranduil followed them to the door and saw them out. Then he said to the guards, “If anyone tries to interrupt us, shoot them.”

”Yes, My Lord,” they saluted cheerfully, as he shut the door and locked it.

“Bloody fuck, I thought they’d never leave!” Bard grabbed the front of his robes. “Come here, you,” he muttered and captured his mouth. 

He groaned deeply when the Bowman’s tongue entered his mouth and their kiss was long, hard, overwhelming, and it went on for ages, until they both were out of breath and weak in the knees.

“Oh, gods…” Bard moaned. “I do love a good session in the closet, but I’d rather remember our first time.”

“No closet sex?” Thranduil teased. “No broken chairs, or scarves or blindfolds?”

“Not tonight. I want you to take me, just like you did on our wedding night.” His arms wrapped around the Elvenking’s neck and Thranduil could feel his husband’s heart pound, and his stiff cock against his own.

“I can absolutely do that,” Thranduil smiled, as he gently disengaged himself and headed towards the bedroom. “Wait here for just a moment.”

“Uh, Thranduil—”

“Just wait, _Meleth nîn!” _

He rushed to his bedroom, where the fire had been laid, ready to start, and once done, he took a twig and made sure every candle in the room was burning. Tonight, he wanted it to be special; he wanted to see everything Bard would give him. Once done, he returned to the sitting room, took his husband by the hand and brought him into their bedchamber.

“Oh, love,” Bard smiled serenely, as his eyes swept the room, taking in the Elf’s efforts. “This is really beautiful. Just like the first time I walked in here.” The gems on the ceiling glittered in the candlelight, adding to the warm, inviting, ambience of the Royal Bedchamber. This was a place where the Kings could throw off their burdens, their cares and most of all, their titles, and be nothing more than a place where two people can completely express their love for one another.

“I have wanted you since this morning, _Meleth nîn_.” He picked up his Bowman and laid him on the bed. “It is nearly midnight, and our anniversary is almost over. If I were you, I would get out of those clothes before I rip them off.”

“Oh, no, no, love; slow down,” Bard reached over and pulled him down. “Did we rush on our wedding night?” his soft, warm hazel eyes smiled into his, as he reached and undid the clasps of Thranduil’s robes. 

“But I want you,” he protested weakly.

“Shhh… let me,” Bard said in low, calming tones. “Your body is like silk; do you know that? So perfect, and brand-new—"

“Like I was made just for you,” Thranduil finished his sentence. “Oh, Bard,” he closed his eyes and his breath hitched when the Bowman’s hands gently explored his chest. Soft, warm lips kissed his neck, his chest and settled on one of his nipples, to lick, then suck.

Slowly, methodically, Bard removed each piece of clothing, until he was lying completely naked and his beloved Bowman, his husband, his gift from the Valar, was tasting every inch of his skin.

“This is not an accurate reenactment of our wedding night, _Meleth nîn_,” he moaned.

“I’m improvising,” Bard grinned up at him, as he hovered over the only part of his body that hadn’t been caressed yet. “Shut up and let me.”

Thranduil cried out and his back arched off the mattress as soon as his cock was enveloped in the wet heat of Bard’s mouth. _“A ma! Ma, ma ma…” _he whimpered._ “Gellon n’i iuithog i pemp gîn!”_

“I know you do, love.”

The delightful ministrations continued, until Thranduil had to grab his head and pull him off. 

“I do not want to come, unless it is inside of you, _Meleth_,” he panted. He kissed Bard and flipped them over. Their eyes never left each other, as Thranduil divested his _Hervenn_ of his own clothing. “My beautiful, muscular, hairy beast…” The Elvenking reverently ran his fingers through the coarser hair on his chest, then down past his navel, and stroked his lower abdomen until Bard’s cock was red, throbbing and stiff against his belly. He tickled the line of hair above the black thatch of hair above his shaft, and lightly teased the skin on each side. 

“Oh…” Bard swallowed hard. “Touch me, love.”

“When I am ready,” Thranduil teased. “I never get tired of looking at you.”

“If you don’t do more than look, this hairy beast of yours is going to start growling,” the Bowman moaned. 

“Oooh, do you promise?”

“Please, Thranduil!”

“That did not sound like a growl to me,” he teased, as he tweaked the cleft of under the head of Bard’s cock. “Some beast you are; you sound more like the whimper of a small puppy.”

“I’ll show you a beast,” Bard sat up, and grabbed Thranduil’s face for another hungry kiss, and this time, the low rumble in the Man’s chest vibrated through them both. “Satisfied now?”

“Not yet,” Thranduil’s laugh was husky, as he reached into the nightstand to grab the bottle of lavender oil they always kept there. “Lay back.”

Bard spread his legs, so the Elvenking could settle between them, and as their hard shafts rubbed together in a steady rhythm, he inserted a slick finger into his opening, and curled his finger upward to tease that beautiful gland that made his Bowman’s eyes sparkle. 

“Oh, that’s so good,” Bard squirmed with delight. “Oh, aye… right there… Oh, stars, you know just how I like it, don’t you?”

“I should hope so. What delights you delights me, remember?”

“Nnnnngg…” the Bowman’s hips swiveled. “Please, love; I want you in me, now!”

Thranduil kneeled, pushed the backs of Bard’s thighs up and, after oiling his hard member, guided him inside until he was buried in the tight heat of his husband. _“A… gi melin, Bard.”_

“I love you, too,” Bard gasped then pulled Thranduil’s head down to kiss him. “This is what I remember. You above me, and in me, and all that lovely hair surrounding me like a curtain. Our own private paradise.”

“The world falls away, _Meleth nîn_,” he kissed his Bowman, “and all I see is the love in your eyes, and those lips I want to kiss forever.” As Thranduil lowered his head, his hips slowly moved out, then back in.

“Oh, that’s it, love. More!”

“Oh, Bard…” Thranduil buried his face in Bard’s neck. Instinctively, Bard clenched his muscles around Thranduil’s rock-hard member, which sent a wave of pleasure which cut through all the fear of the last weeks. Hips moved and thrust together again, and he lifted his head, looked into his Bowman’s eyes and saw, and knew, and understood.

And when they came to their peak of pleasure, each took the other with him, and the bright lights and colors healed each other’s hurts, as they always had, and always would.

And just like so many times before, the Elf and the Bowman whispered to each other their deepest, most secret thoughts, until the fire died down and the candles burned themselves down to stubs. Bard held him tight and listened to the Elvenking speak, until those traumatic memories drifted far away into the past. There they stayed, at least for a while, perhaps for always, but that didn’t matter. His _fëa_ was made whole again and thanks to his beloved husband, the Elvenking felt safer than he had in weeks.

Later, Thranduil smiled with relief and happiness and drifted off to a peaceful sleep, as Bard softly snored into the back of his neck.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_A… gi melin, Bard. _– I love you, Bard

_A ma! __Ma, ma ma… _\- Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes...

_Gellon n’i iuithog i pemp gîn! –_ I love it when you use your mouth!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the dead in the Woodland Realm are laid to rest, which makes a tiring day for our Kings and our favorite Elven Prince. 
> 
> .
> 
> The next day, Daeron and Turamarth have a *very* personal talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the world is brought to a near-standstill from the Covid-19 virus, let us all use this opportunity to practice kindness to one another, and stay positive. Let us practice consideration, by observing the guidelines set up for our own safety: Wash our Hands, Practice Social Distancing, Stay Home, Sanitize all doorknobs and handles in our homes and vehicles.
> 
> And remember to keep all our medical and services workers in our thoughts and prayers.
> 
> I have been so moved by those in Italy, who, despite the terrible toll this disease has taken, still go out on their balconies to sing, play music, and even exercise together! One photographer said that before this, he didn't even know who his neighbors were!
> 
> Let's all give thanks to the Internet, because, though we are apart, we can still be together!

* * *

_‘But I'd give my heart whole_

_I did, I'd give my heart_

_And although it's lost_

_Let it still beating_

_And I'd give my whole soul_

_I did, I'd give my soul_

_And although I'm broken_

_I am still breathing…”_

** _ Faith’s Song  _ ** _ by** Amy Wadge** _

* * *

**The Woodland Realm, 18th of December 2944 T.A.**

The Kings celebrated their union most of the night, with loving touches, heart-to-heart talks, and making love, until sleep found them both at last, a couple of hours before dawn. Bard held his Elf tightly against him, and just his last act before slipping away was to send one last burst of love to Thranduil’s _fëa_.

Because the morrow would be a difficult day for his Elf, and while some might think a good rest would be a better preparation for the Elvenking and his consort, both agreed that their closeness of their _fëas_ during lovemaking would serve them better than any amount of sleep ever could.

So, when the knock on the door came three hours later, announcing the arrival of their breakfast, Thranduil and Bard didn’t groan about it. 

Today, the Elvenking was to preside over three funerals. The first two would be for the only victims of Kinslaying in the history of the Woodland Realm, and the third would be for the Elf who killed them.

What remained of Seldion and Heril, parents of a Saeros, had been brought from their makeshift graves in the forest, and their bones, surrounded by white linen and flowers, had been placed together in a coffin and would be placed in the ground during the first service. 

The second, and the most heartbreaking, would be for Lidros, the shy, affable Elf, who had been Master of the _Têwtham_ in the Palace for over 1300 years. 

Legolas and Thranduil had visited his parents twice since his death, making sure they had all the support they needed, and the Elvenking had arranged for a Healer to come each evening to administer a _losta-luith _to make sure they get rest and would be free from nightmares. 

“Bring him back here, when you’re done, love,” Bard had suggested then. “Lidros’s death still weighs heavy on the lad. He’ll need the company.” Of course, he was right, (as usually was with these sorts of things). Thranduil sat quietly on those evenings, and watched his husband ply Legolas with food and tea, as he spoke of nonsensical things, until his shoulders relaxed a bit and his face lost some it’s pinched look.  
  


A great many Elves were expected to attend, Lidros’s funeral, so Thranduil had arranged with Indis for a formal luncheon to be held the Dining Hall. 

The third service would take place in the late afternoon, although few people knew about it.

After much deliberation with his council (and with his Bowman), Thranduil decided that a small, private service would be held for Saeros, so that his remains might also rest in whatever peace could be found for him. It was unanimously agreed that time of the service and location of his grave would not be made public.

The morning sun sent a colorful shower over the green bedspread as they caught the light of the jewels on the ceiling. Not for the first time, Bard marveled at the sight, especially when they settled in Thranduil’s hair. The Elf had no idea how beautiful he was; he just rolled over with a soft moan. Bard sat on the edge of the bed, scrubbed his hand over his face a few times to finish waking up, then grabbed the green dressing gown on the chair. “Morning, love,” he tied the robe at his waist then leaned over and kissed his husband’s cheek. “Wakey wakey.”

“Mmmmnnn,” the Elf yawned, stretched out his arms, and propped himself on his elbows. “Already?”

“I’ll get the door,” he handed Thranduil his black silk robe. “You might want to comb your hair; we’ll have company, don’t forget.”

Bard closed the bedroom doors behind him, and called, “_Neledâf!”_

The black iron latch lifted at the entrance to their chambers, and slowly opened as the food-laden cart was pushed inside by one of Idril’s kitchen maids. Directly behind her, dressed in silver tunic and leggings, with a simple silver crown on his brow stood the Prince the of the Woodland Realm.

_“De athae,”_ Bard addressed the pretty maid, “We can get that on the table ourselves.”

After a demure smile and a salute, the _Elleth_ left, and Bard addressed his stepson. “I’m glad you’re here. Your father’s not quite awake yet, but he’ll be along. Sorry we’re not dressed yet; we just woke up.” 

“That my _Ada_ is still sleeping does not surprise me,” Legolas’s mouth lifted on one side, “but you are normally up with the dawn, Bard. Do you need me to come later?”

“Don’t be silly; sit down and make yourself comfortable; Thranduil will be out in a minute.” He pulled out one of the chairs at the dining table. “Here; let me get you some tea.” The King of Dale picked up the large pot, poured out a mug, and handed him the honey. Before the Elf could protest, he grabbed a plate, scooped a generous portion of eggs and fruit, and set it down in front of him. “You need to keep up your strength,” he said, when Legolas lifted his hand in protest, “I can’t begin to imagine what this day is going to be like, and you look exhausted already.”

_“Ci vilui,”_ the Elven Prince grinned sheephishly. “Did you fuss over your own children like this when they were small?”

“Yes, but for different reasons; there was barely enough food to go around back then, and even less in the way of medicine, so I had to keep them from getting sick.” Bard’s tone was matter of fact, busy filling his own plate. He didn’t notice the look of consternation on Legolas’s face until he set his napkin in his lap.

“My apologies; I did not mean—”

“No, don’t be upset with yourself,” Bard waved away his embarrassment. “It wasn’t so bad as you might think. Everyone we knew were in the same boat, so it didn’t seem all that unusual.” His shoulders lifted with a casual shrug. “But to answer your question, I fuss and worry over _all_ my kids, and that includes you and Tauriel. If you’re looking for me to stop, then you’ll be disappointed.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I like it being part of a big family.” Legolas reached for a piece of bacon. “I’ve always had Galion, Tauriel and Núriel - our nanny - before she sailed. I even had _Ada_, to some extent, though I did not give him nearly as much room in my life as I should have. But now…”

“There’s a lot more of us?” Bard teased.

“Yes, but it is more than that. Before, though we loved each other, we were separate, and the family we have now is bigger than the sum of its parts. We are more together, if that makes any sense at all.”

“It does,” he said, doing his best to keep the sudden gruffness from his throat. Since they decided to marry, Thranduil had dreamed of his family all together. Bard now understood that he had wanted it just as badly. “You make us very happy, son.”

“Last evening, was the first time I heard about your wedding, and I admit to feeling a bit sad because I was not there. Yet, when I came to Dale, you and the others pulled me into your fold without hesitation, as if my place was waiting for me.”

“Course we did,” Bard studied his stepson’s face. “There really wasn’t much to tell about the wedding; it was just a simple ceremony, but what Gandalf didn’t mention was that _your_ name was spoken during our vows, too.”

“It was?”

“Of course; why wouldn’t it be? Thranduil declared Sigrid, Bain and Tilda his own, and I declared you and Tauriel mine.” Bard set down the roll he had just buttered and met his stepson’s blue eyes. “It was never a case of adding you to the family, Legolas; your space was there, and we all prayed you would come back to us. My kids will never forget how you saved them that night in Laketown, and how you helped us on the beach the next day, or those weeks before the Battle. My Sea Monsters as thrilled to have you as a brother as they are to have Tauriel as a sister.”

The Elf’s throat bobbed in a hard swallow. “That means a great deal to me.”

“I’m glad, son. And I hope you know your mother has my respect, too. I don’t care how old you are; every kid with a stepparent worries about that, so if you’ve ever wondered, don’t. That’s the wonderful thing about love,” he took a small sip of his tea, shook his head slightly and stirred in a bit more honey, “the more you give away, the more you get.”

Legolas’s eyes fell to his breakfast, absently pushing bits of melon around his plate. “That is nice to know. Especially today.”

“I’m proud that you want to preside over Lidros’s funeral today,” Bard reached across the table and patted his forearm, “but if things become hard, look to me or your _Ada_, and we’ll get you through it, all right?”

“I will,” Legolas promised.

“Good,” he grinned. “We just have to get you through your breakfast, first. Now get that food into you, yeah?”

The doors to the bedroom opened, and Thranduil came into the common room, fully dressed and looking resplendent in black velvet robes, and smoothing down his hair that bore his Onyx and silver crown.

“There he is!” Bard turned in his chair to fully appreciate the sight of his tall, beautiful husband. “You look nice.”

“Of course, I am here, and thank you, _Meleth nîn_.” Thranduil went to Legolas and patted his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

“No, to be honest,” the Prince said, as he finished up his eggs and fruit. “I could not sleep last night, so I sat up and wrote a song for his parents.”

“I am sure it will be perfect,” the Elvenking gave him a reassuring nod.

After pouring himself another cup of tea, Legolas hesitated, then said, “I am glad the funeral for Saeros will be private. I confess, I did not agree with any sort of service at all, at first; Kinslaying is among the worst of crimes among our kind, but now I think I understand.”

“Can I ask what you would normally do with an Elf guilty of such things?” Bard asked him warily. 

“If Saeros had not been under such an evil influence, I would declare him guilty, burn his body and throw his ashes in the slurry pits,” Thranduil’s face was grave. “And if he had been still alive…” he sighed. “Frankly, I do not know, and pray that I never have to find out.”

“You told me once your father never believed in the death sentence.” 1

“He did not, nor do I. At the moment, my bigger concern is to help my people get past this. They feel as if a sacred trust has been broken, a…”

“Now that this line has been crossed, and they’re afraid it could happen again?” Bard asked.

“Exactly. _Pînlass_, you are not alone in your struggle to accept and understand, and you were witness to all that had happened! How much more difficult will it be for those who did not?” Thranduil laid down his fork and addressed them both. “For the sake of Lidros’s family, I must ask that neither of you make mention of this to them, nor even mention Saeros’s name. We must leave them to cope with their grief, without feeling pressured to forgive before they are ready.”

“That’s a good idea, love,” Bard reach over and rubbed Thranduil’s back. 

“I agree,” Legolas’s chin lowered in understanding.

The Elvenking continued. “I am also certain there will be some anger expressed at Seldion’s and Heril’s service, but do not reprimand; instead, let us encourage the focus on their kindness and skill as weavers, and their excellent character. Gently remind the mourners that this is the time to celebrate their lives, to dwell on fond memories of them, because they are safe in the Valar’s hands now.” He sighed. “As a rule, I do not like platitudes, but there are occasions when they help.”

“Should we tell them what Evvy said? That they have remained in Mandos to be with their son?” Bard asked him. “It might help.”

Thranduil shook his head reluctantly. “I would like to, but I do not want Evranin or Tur to be approached and bombarded with questions or opinions, just now. Their health is still delicate, and as much respect as I have for those who died, my priority must always be for the living. However, let me assess the mood of those who attend, and we shall see.”

“Fair enough,” Bard leaned back and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, “but I think your people are wise enough to put things into perspective. Your Elves are many things, but few are as hot-headed as all that, love.”

“You give us too much credit, _Meleth nîn_,” the Elvenking shook his head with wry amusement.

“I agree with Bard, _Ada_,” Legolas said, quietly. “I believe the Palace already knows most of it anyway. I would much rather they heard the entire story from _us;_ this way we can make sure the facts are correct. They deserve the right to make up their own minds.”

The Elvenking steepled his fingers and held them against his lips for a moment or two, his eyes filled with pride and approval. “Well said, _Ion nîn_.”

***************

Thranduil stood next to his husband and tried to ignore the lump growing in his throat, as he observed his son. Legolas stood across the open grave, leading the mourners in the Songs of Farewell. His spine was straight and his were shoulders back, yet the pain in his eyes and his voice twisted the Elvenking’s heart. 

Still, as he shamefully reminded himself, his pain was only a poor reflection of the agony suffered by Lidros’s parents. His mother was slumped against her husband, her face buried in her hands, as he held her in his arms and cried into her hair. Legolas instinctively moved closer to the couple, put his arm around both of them and bravely and continued to sing, though his blue eyes – so like his grandfather – were swimming with tears. When it was time for his _Pînlass_ to sing the song he had written, nervous prickles ran down Thranduil’s spine as he and the rest of the crowd waited in silence. 

Legolas opened his mouth to sing, but nothing came out. His shoulders heaved in a sigh, and he tried again, only managing to swallow. It was too much.

Thranduil turned to go around the grave and help, but Bard grabbed his hand, and stopped him. _No,_ came the silent message, _help him like this… _ Their fingers intertwined, and together they sent a wave of love and assurance, and with their support, their son’s clear beautiful voice brought honor and comfort to Lidros and his family.   
  
When the last note hung in the air, the Elvenking stepped forward, and lifted his palms to the sky. Now it was Thranduil’s turn to struggle to keep his voice steady, as he gave the final benediction and the _Ellon’s_ body was laid to it’s final rest.

After the group dispersed to gather in Lidros’s family apartments, Thranduil pulled his son aside and hugged him fiercely. “You did well, _Ion nîn_; I am so proud of you.”

Bard rubbed Legolas’s back as he lingered in his father’s embrace. “Are you all right?”

“No,” he mumbled into Thranduil’s shoulder. “I will be, though. Does this ever get easier?”

“I know you blame yourself, _Pînlass_,” his father said, “but none of this was your fault.”

Legolas’s chest rose and fell with a sigh. “That is no comfort to Lidros’s parents, is it?” 

Thranduil put his hands on his son’s face and looked deeply into his eyes. “Listen to me:You made the choice you did, because you were trying to keep our people safe! Who could ask for more than that?

“It is time to let this guilt over Lidros go, _Ion nîn_. Do not drag it around with you, or you will fall prey to the same difficulties that haunted me for so many years. Do you want that for yourself, for your people? Do you want that for your family? Learn from my mistakes, Legolas. Forgive yourself and move on.”

Legolas stared into his eyes for a moment, then nodded. 

“Come,” he put his arm around his son’s shoulders. “Let us get you inside, _Pînlass_.”

Bard, bless him, tactfully walked behind them at a distance, and let them have some privacy.

“_Ada_?” Legolas asked quietly as they entered the Main Doors. “Did Oropher help you with things like this?”

A small wave of nostalgia and yearning swept over the Elvenking. “Yes,” he said quietly, “he did. I miss him, and your mother, but you are such a perfect combination of them; with Mírelen’s face, and _Haru’s _hair and eyes... Thanks to you, they are never far away.”

Legolas stopped and stared up at him. “It no longer hurts you that I look like her?”

Thranduil froze. His jaw went slack, and he couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat. _ “Ai, Pînlass nîn...”_ he croaked. “I am—“

”It is well, _Ada.” _Legolas smiled. “Forgive yourself, and move on.”

He managed a small laugh. “I will, if you will,” he sniffed.

”We have a bargain, then.”

After making their appearance in the Dining Hall, the three of them went to check on Turamarth and Evranin. They found the Guardian in Evvy’s room, with another small visitor sitting in his lap.

“Yord Frandoo!” Darren waved. “Yord Bard!” The child tried to say ‘Legolas,’ but became tongue-tied and fell into giggles. When the child crawled off his uncle’s lap and ran into his son’s arms, his face lost its shadow and a smile flickered at the edge of his mouth. 

Thranduil could have kissed him. “Hello, _Hênig_,” he ruffled the little boy’s dark curls. “Are you looking after your Uncle Tur and Evvy for us?”

“Uh huh,” his chin bobbed up and down with enthusiasm. “Mama and _Ada_ said I can!”

“My family went to Lidros’s reception, so I offered to babysit.” Tur booped Darren’s nose. “Although, I think he is babysitting _us._ He even loaned me his Blankie to get me better.”

“Really?” Thranduil bowed his head and saluted the boy. “A most noble sacrifice.” His gaze fell upon his Guardian, who looked less tired than before. “Are you well, Tur?”

“Ivárë wants me to stay a few more days,” Turamarth answered, “but I am feeling much stronger.”

“And you, Evranin?” Bard asked. “I see you’ve got a bit more color to your face.”

“Tur says my freckles do not stand out quite so much,” a wry little smile tugged at her full lips. “I sleep a great deal, but I am feeling more alert, today.”

“That is well, for Mithrandir tells me we can expect your family in two days’ time. He has helped to hasten their journey, and I have sent an escort, to assist, as I am certain they are most anxious to see you.”

Evranin’s eyes brightened. “I cannot wait to see them!”

“A suite of rooms has been prepared for their arrival, and their every comfort will be seen to.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” She bowed her head and saluted the Kings with a grateful smile. 

Thranduil couldn’t help but notice the pointed looks Tur and Evvy were exchanging. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“There is, My Lord.” After another quick glance at Turamarth, who nodded his encouragement, she opened her mouth. “Tur and I have talked, and… we would like to attend the service for Saeros, if it is possible.”

The Elvenking’s head jerked backwards, and his eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? Will Ivárë allow this?”

“She will,” the Mistress Healer entered the room, _“if_ transportation, seating and blankets are provided. I do not want either of them to get a chill.” She put her hand over her heart and saluted the Kings and the Prince. “Good afternoon, _Hîr nîn_.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Bard said. “Hello, Ivárë.”

“I have decided to bury Saeros in the far corner of my private gardens,” Thranduil told the Healer, “though for now, I do not want this location to be made public. We just sent Seldion and Heril to their final resting place, and while we did give all the facts, there is still anger mixed in with our people’s grief. I can arrange for Tur and Evvy to accompany us.”

“My family will look after us, My Lord,” Tur added. “After we checked with Ivárë, they offered their help.”

“Let it be so, then,” Thranduil told them. “We will meet at the end of the Royal Wing, near the door to my garden in two hours.”

Legolas walked with the Kings until he left them at the entrance to his own suite. 

“I would like some time alone, _Ada_.” He said. “I did not sleep well and would like a bit of rest.”

“Very well,” Thranduil said, kindly. “You are not required to attend the services in the Garden, so if you choose to stay here, I will understand.”

Legolas’s eyebrows rose. “But _you_ do not have a choice, _Ada_. So, I will be there to support you.” And with a small wave, he went in.

Once they reached their chambers and closed the door behind them, Bard opened his arms.

“Come here,” he said. 

And the Elvenking did. Bard rubbed his back, and quietly led him over to one of the red brocade couches, and sat him down next to the cheerful fire, and the tray of food and wine that had been laid out on the low table.

“Did you arrange this, _Meleth nîn?” _

“I did,” the Bowman poured out a glass of wine and fixed him a plate. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, and you will be again, but for now, let me look after you, love.”

Thranduil put the goblet to his lips and drank it down. The sweet wine exploded with flavor in his mouth, and only now did he notice how dry it had become. It went down smoothly and immediately started to warm his insides. “Thank you,” he leaned his head on Bard’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Soft lips kissed his temple and a warm solid arm went around him. “Losing any Elf to death is a tragedy, but like this…” Bard shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t believe it, myself.” He handed Thranduil a piece of sweetbread spread with cheese. “Two down, one to go, and then I’ll bring you back here and really show you how much I love you.”

“But the first service was quite small,” he reminded his husband, “and I did not lead the second service,”

“As if _that_ made it easier for you?” the Bowman snorted. “I was there, remember? You were turning yourself inside out worried about Legolas!”

Thranduil had to agree. “My son will be an excellent ruler.”

Bard’s brows lifted and his forehead wrinkled. “Please don’t say something like that; if he’s King, that will mean you…”

“You misunderstand me, _Meleth nîn_. My heart tells me I will be King in this realm until the time of the Elves is over, whether we win the Final War, or not. Still, that does not mean Legolas will remain here forever. What is to stop him from leading his own colony of Elves somewhere else, someday?” 2

“That’s true,” Bard laid his cheek on the top of Thranduil’s head, as he broke off a piece of bread and put it in his mouth. “Now, eat up, you.”

Bard never left his side, as the small gathering sang in the King’s Garden. Saeros’s body, wrapped in linens was placed in the grave by Adamar and Ómar, while their wives and Daeron stood next to Tur and Evvy’s chairs and held their hands. The pair was swathed in blankets, but they stood straight and joined in the singing with sincerity. 

Evvy held her necklace and sang her best wishes, as though she might not be able to completely forgive now, but she wanted to try. Turamarth held his necklace as well, but he sang with genuine regret. Daeron leaned down several times and whispered to him and kept his hands protectively on his cousin’s shoulders. Indis was also beside her son, stroking his smooth mahogany hair before taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Once the service was over, and the party was inside again, the Elvenking took Daeron aside, and quietly asked, “Is there something wrong with Tur?”

“He feels responsible for everything that happened to Saeros, My Lord. I have tried to talk to him, but—”

“How can this be?”

The Lieutenant’s face pinched, as he shook his head. “The reason Saeros first met Pallando - in his guise as an Elf – was because he was upset by something Turamarth had said to him and ran to his tree seeking solace.”3

“I vaguely recall that incident...” Thranduil slowly stroked his jaw while he absorbed this news. “But they were just small children, full of mischief! There was no way to predict such a thing; Pallando could have victimized anyone!”

“I agree, My Lord. I think it is small consolation; especially today.”

“Does Evranin know this?”

“She does, and it was one of the reasons why she insisted upon coming with us. She had her own reasons, of course, but,” Thranduil followed Daeron’s worried eyes to the couple being taken back to the Healing Hall. “I think if anyone can help him, it is her.”

“I think so, too, _Mellon_,” the Elvenking patted his friend on the back. “But do not discount the power of his family. You and Rhian have wrought a miracle for him, and I am grateful.”

The Lieutenant bowed his head and formally saluted him. _“De mhilui, Aran nîn,”_ he said demurely.

***************

**The Woodland Realm, 19th of December 2944 T.A.**

Daeron was seated next to Tur who was propped up in bed, studying the pieces on the game board in his lap. After some consideration, he picked up Daeron’s Dragon and replaced it with his Wizard. “Your move, _Ul-nif__,”_ he said, with a smirk.

“So it is, Ugly,” Daeron made a face. “Why do _I_ always have to be the Orcs? The rules clearly state the players are supposed to take turns.”

“I am the patient,” Tur blinked at him with wide, mock-innocent eyes. “You cannot upset me; I could have a setback.”

“Oh, please,” Daeron scowled. “Stop milking this, or I’ll make you shovel the snow off the sidewalks when we get back to Dale.”

“Believe me when I say I look forward to that; anything is better than being cooped up here. Now make your move.  
I am supposed to have a nap soon.”

Daeron rolled his eyes, then pursed his mouth in concentration. Then his face smoothed out and he grabbed his dark tower and knocked over Tur’s King. _“Oblet-haran!” _he smirked.

“How did you…” Tur’s eyes bulged. “Did I not just remind you I am in a fragile state?”

“You will live.” Daeron picked up the board and set it on one of the side tables, then leaned over him to adjust his pillows and blankets. “I never thought I would say this, but it is good to hear you calling me ‘Ugly-Face’ again,” he chuckled, as he smoothed down his covers, then sat back down studying his cousin carefully. “Are you truly feeling better?”

“Yes, for the most part.”

“What do you mean?”

Tur’s mouth fell a little. “Can I talk to you? Privately, I mean.”

“Of course, _Gwador_. Just a minute.” He rose, went to the door of his room and closed it, softly. When he resumed his seat, he refused to acknowledge the small ball of dread that was forming in his stomach. “Is there something amiss?”

Tur’s eyes fell to his fingers, as they plucked at his blanket.

“Is this about Evvy?” he leaned forward a bit.

The hands froze, and Tur gave the smallest of nods.

“Come on, _Gwador,”_ Daeron urged gently. “You can tell me anything. Are you upset that she’s leaving soon?”

“I… yes…and no.”

“What do you mean, ‘no?’ I thought you would be devastated; I would be.”

“I _will_ miss her, very much, but I think it... might not be so bad.”

“That,” Daeron said, “is the last thing I expected you to say.”

“I know,” his cousin was crestfallen, “but I cannot yet say when I would be ready to take it further. Or if.” He swallowed, as his face went red. “There are things that need to... happen, or I am not sure I can marry her.”

“What?” Daeron reached over and grabbed his hands to stop them from fidgeting. “Why would you think that? I know it is early days yet, but she _is_ your One, is she not?”

“Of course, she is!” Tur snapped. “I will never want another, but…”

“But what? She loves you, you love her, and the two of you will get married, and give Rhian and I nieces and nephews to spoil. This is your dream, _Gwador; _I know that.”

“It is… but...”

”I cannot help you if you do not tell me what troubles you.”

”I have a problem, and I thought that once things became clear between Evvy and I, it would… clear up, but,” Tur’s eyes lifted from his lap and met his. “May I ask you something, and can you promise to keep it between us?”

“Need you ask?” Daeron tilted his head and gave him a knowing stare. “This is _me_ you are talking to.”

“When you met Rhian, and you…thought about her in… that way…”

“You mean sexually?”

“Yes. That. When you realized you had feelings for her, you would get…” he winced.

“Aroused?”

Turamarth blew out a breath and nodded.

“I did, yes. Quite often. _Ae,_ I burned for her day and night!”

Despite his discomfiture, Turamarth smirked, “I know. I did most of our laundry, remember? And there was always a bottle of lavender oil in your nightstand.”

Daeron gasped in horror. “You looked?”

“No, _Ul-nif; _I know this because you are hopeless at keeping your room clean, and it was always sitting out. Half the time you forgot to put the cork the bottle.”

It was Daeron’s turn to blush, and he could feel the heat rising from the top of his chest clear to his hairline. “Oh,” he cleared his throat then got back to the subject. “But it is perfectly normal for an _Ellon’s_ _Gwîb_ to become aroused on a regular basis, especially when he has fallen in love—”

And Tur’s face turned downward again. 

Daeron stared at his cousin’s lowered head as the realization hit him. 

_Oh. Oh, no… _

“Tur?” he murmured. “You mean you cannot...?”

He shook his head and refused to meet his eyes.

“You mean… _at all?_ Not even in your sleep?”

“No,” he mumbled.

“How long has it been?”

“Since Lothlórien, when I attacked her.” 4

_“Gwador,”_ Daeron’s jaw set, and he grabbed his cousin’s hands again and said, forcefully, “Listen to me! You. Did. Not. Rape. Evvy. That was not real!”

Tur jerked his hands free and covered his face with shame. “I was sure, after all that I saw Lady Celebrian, after all the things Mithrandir told us, that things would be different, but nothing has changed!” his shoulders started to shake with sobs. “I do not know what is wrong with me, but if I cannot be a proper husband to her, then I cannot marry her!”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_De athae_ – Thank you/you are generous

_De mhilui, Aran nîn _– You are very king, My King.

_Gi nathathon __Gwador nîn; gi nathathon _\- I will help you, my sworn-brother; I will help you

_Gwîb_ – penis, cock (I kid you not - Tolkien had a name for it)

_Neledâf_ – Come in (Lit. “Permission to Enter”)

_Oblet-haran_ \- Check Mate (lit. "To imprison the king.")

_Têwtham _\- “Letter Hall” the room that houses and sorts all ordinary correspondence in the Palace.

_Ul-nif_ – Ugly-face

**NOTES:**

[1] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 10: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24938166>

[2] The Return of the King, Appendix A: Annals of Kings and Rulers_: “After the Fall of Sauron…Legolas…also brought south Elves out of the Greenwood, and they dwelt in Ithilien, and it became once again the fairest country in all the westlands.”_

[3] Ibid.; Ch. 20: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/52937821>

[4] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 25: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/44623087>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Internet is running horribly slow here, so I don't dare try to post pictures. Hopefully it will get better. Thanks again for all your support and comments!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daeron and Turamarth have a long talk about the future.  
.  
Evvy and Rhian have a long talk about forgiveness.  
.  
The party from Lothlorien finally arrives, but that means the Elvenking will miss out on festivities with his own family.  
.  
And Evvy finally gets to see her father and brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I know this is a bit late, and for the next while, the chapters might be a bit short; I have joined in the efforts to make masks and caps to help the hospitals cope with this horrid Covid-19 pandemic. 
> 
> Also, due to slowing internet speed, pictures aren't possible. Sorry.
> 
> Please; be safe! Wash your hands, practice social distancing, stay home, and pray to your personal Higher Power for our healthcare workers, AND those who offer essential services to us. My BIL and daughter both work at grocery stores, with little or no protective equipment, and they are also at risk.
> 
> Be kind to each other, and we will get through this! Blessings to all!

* * *

Have I ever mentioned that I do not react well, when woken from a sound sleep? 

It’s just one those bugaboos that makes me, me. 

Those in my intimate circle joke about poking me with a broom handle, but the result is usually the same: I jolt awake with a scream and scare the bejeepers out of the person holding the ten-foot pole. One a few occasions, the resulting heart palpitations that accompanied these occasions caused some real worry.

On this occasion, however, it was only my own heart in peril. In fact, it was pounding hard enough to bruise my ribcage, while my attacker(s) remained calm. 

After that last visit from Thranduil and Bard (I am _still_ trying to get my closet in order, thank you very much), I decided I was never going to be taken by surprise by my characters (canon and AU) again. 

Oh, I spared no expense to preserve my <strike>sanity</strike> safety.

Alarms had been installed, extra deadbolts were screwed securely into my door, and I had sent my dog, off to “How to be a Scary Guard Dog” camp (she’s a terrier, so naturally she passed with flying colors). In order to cover all my bases, I have had my room “cleansed” with sage, did research on local Native American rituals, and have a box containing a crucifix, a rosary and a bottle of Holy Water. 

I was safe from rude awakenings by fictional characters.

Or so I thought.

_The sudden hand covering my mouth begged to differ, as it woke me with a terrified start. Within seconds, I was bound and gagged with a hood over my head and found myself in a moving vehicle. The bed of straw rustled beneath me, the clop-clop of horse’s feet, accompanied by the faint odor of manure indicated I was in a wagon, but my captors had not made a sound._

_Neither did my damned dog._

_When my hood was removed, I found myself seated in a room, surrounded by Elves holding torches._

_“What, no pitchforks?” I quipped. “And what have you done with my dog?”_

_“She is fine.” Daeron indicated the small, traitorous bundle of golden fur snuggled in his arms. “But she will not be for long unless you fix this.”_

_“Fix what?” I feigned ignorance, then decided an offense might be a good defense. “And don’t be threatening harm to the dog; we both know you wouldn’t harm a hair on her head!”_

_The Elf tried to look fierce as she licked his hand. “Perhaps not. What is her name?”_

_“Fang.” I lied. “Don’t be fooled; she’s more dangerous than she looks. Remember the white rabbit in Monty Python and the Holy Grail?”_

_“Who?” Daeron looked at me like I had crows coming out of my ears, then shook himself. “Still, that will not keep us from holding her hostage, until you meet our demands. _

_“Which are?”_

_“You know damned well what they are!” Turamarth surged forward in fury. “You made me…” he searched for the word, “in…im..” _

_“Impotent?” I suggested, wincing._

_“Yes! That!” he spat at me; his face contorted with fury. “How could you do that to me? Of all the things you have put us through, that is the most humiliating… “Penig ‘ûr a gi fuion, ci orch ‘waur!” Tur’s fists were clenched at his sides, and I knew it wouldn’t take much for one of them to start swinging in my direction._

_“Look,” I said, using my most soothing voice. “You just have to trust me.”_

_“Well, I do not!”_

_“Hey, now wait a minute!” My spine stiffened. “Didn’t I send Celebrian to help you? You won’t be haunted by those dreams any more thanks to her!”_

_“Maybe so,” Tur’s lips thinned with anger, “but why, after all this, would you curse me with the most humiliating affliction a male of any race could have?”_

_My chest lifted and fell with a huge sigh. “All right, all right. I’ll tell you, but only you, okay? Come here.”_

_Turamarth and his cousin exchanged looks. “What harm could it do, Gwador?” Daeron nudged him with his elbow, urging him forward._

_He took two cautious steps. “What?” he demanded._

_“No; you need to come closer.” When he hesitated, I rolled my eyes in disgust. “Oh, for pity’s sake! What do you think I’m going to do? I’m tied up here!”_

_“This is true.” Tur approached and leaned down so that his ear was an inch from my mouth. “What?” he asked again._

_In the barest of whispers, I revealed his storyline._

_“Mmm hmm,” he murmured, nodding periodically. “I see…” At one point, his head jerked back with surprise. “Really?” his eyes bulged. “I think… yes, I think I would like that.” _

_I winked at him with a knowing grin, and warned, “But if you tell anyone, I’ll change it. So, do we have a deal?”_

_Tur nodded, stood up and addressed his compatriots. “I am satisfied. We can let her go and return her to her laptop.”_

_“Are you sure?” Daeron eyebrows rose, as the other two Elves, exchanged dubious glances._

_“I am sure. I cannot tell you what she revealed, but I think we should continue to indulge her. For now, at least.”_

_“If you say so,” Daeron sighed. “I am not convinced, but I trust your judgment.”_

_“Oh, Daeron?” I smiled sweetly up at him. “Might you be so kind as to untie me?”_

_The Elven Healer handed Fang to one of the other Elves and took out his small knife. Once he released me from my bindings, I said, “Thank you. Now, may I tell you something?”_

_“You may,” he said, and leaned down to listen._

_I grabbed his head, put my mouth a inch from his sensitive Elven ear and yelled at the top of my lungs, “If you ever kidnap me like this again, I will kill you off, do you understand me? Now, GIVE ME MY DOG GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”_

…and that’s when I woke up...

* * *

_“Just say you love me, just for today_

_And don't give me time 'cause that's not the same_

_I want to feel burning flames when you say my name_

_I want to feel passion flow into my bones like blood through my veins…”_

** _ Say You Love Me,  _ ** _ by** Jessie Ware** _

** _ _ **

**The Woodland Realm, 19th of December 2944 T.A.**

Turamarth’s face was buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Daeron took him in his arms, held him tight.

"I am here,” he said, rubbing circled into his back. “_Gi nathathon Gwador nîn; gi nathathon."_

“How can you possibly help me?” Tur lifted his red, tear-streaked face. “There is nothing to be done!”

Daeron pulled back and put his hands atop his shoulders. “Tur, I can understand this dysfunction since the attack in Lothlórien, but do not forget that Celebrian came to help you. You do not know what will happen; you must not give up.”

“But I have not…” his eyes scrunched.

“You have not had an erection since then?”

“Yes!”

“Tur,” Daeron tilted his head and asked, “how long were you unconscious?”

He blinked. “You told me I was asleep for seven days.”

“Yes,” his cousin’s chin bobbed up and down. “And towards the end, you took a turn for the worse; that is when Celebrain came to save you. Now, how long ago did you wake up?”

“What is today?”

“The nineteenth of December.”

“Four days?”

“Exactly!” Daeron’s hands tightened on his shoulders. “You can barely walk up and down the corridor here without becoming exhausted and needing a nap. What did you expect? To jump out of bed and ask Evvy to jump your bones?”

“’Jump my bones?’” One side of Tur’s mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. 

“It’s just something Rhian says.”

“I know,” he chuckled softly. “I live with you, remember?” 

“So, you see what I am saying, _Gwador?_ You might be worried over nothing.” Daeron squeezed his shoulders again then released them. “Give yourself time to become strong again and learn to get back to normal.”

“I am not sure if I remember what that means anymore,” Tur sighed. “I have tried so hard to get over all of that…”

“And considering the damage done to your _fëa_, you have done remarkably well! We are all proud of you.”

“I am not sure how well I really did, Daeron. At best, I was pushing things into the background just to get on with things.” He swallowed. “What if it never gets better than that?”

“But it will, Tur. I watched you when Evvy first woke up. That was the first display of real emotion I had seen in you since last summer.”

“I have been feeling things,” he protested. 

“Yes, you have,” Daeron told him. “All the sadness, depression, and despair were very real. But I know you, _Gwador_; when it came to anything positive and hopeful, you had to contrive it, talk yourself into it. That is not the same thing.” He reached over and took Tur’s hand. “You were trying every day and refused to give up; that is why we are proud of you!”

“I was doing what Rhian suggested: ‘Fake it till you make it.” He lifted one shoulder and dropped it in exhaustion. “I thought it would work, but just before we came here, I realized that would be as good as it could ever be.”

“But that was before you encountered Lady Celebrian, and things are different!” Daeron lifted his hand and stroked Tur’s mahogany hair. “You joy at Evvy’s bedside, was real, completely spontaneous, and that is a hopeful sign. I cannot help but believe everything else will fall into place for you.”

“Truly?” his chest swelled slightly with a hope he still feared would disappear.

“I do,” Daeron gave him a knowing look. “Since you woke up, there is a lightness to you; and when Darryn crawls into your lap to hug you, I do not have to ‘try’ to show how much you love him, do you?”

Tur’s eyes stung, and his cousin’s face blurred slightly. “No, you are right,” he said with awe in his voice. “It is…natural to me, now.”

“See?” his cousin smiled. “Just give yourself some time. In any case, it will be a while before your sexual performance will even be an issue, that is something you can push into the background, for now.”

“I will try,” he promised. “I know Evvy must leave soon.”

“Oh, it is more than that, Tur.” Daeron got off the bed, smoothed down his blankets and poured him a glass of water to drink. “During my year in the Golden Wood, I spoke of you fondly to Orlin and Lord Ohtar. Neither of them doubts your innocence at the time of your arrest there.”

Tur’s stomach fluttered. “What if he decides he does not like me?”

“I highly doubt it. He knows you are an honorable Elf; the Lady Galadriel would not have given you with that jewel otherwise. Her favor means a great deal in their land.”

“Are you sure?

“I am. Ohtar is also honorable, but he strongly believes in keeping up the traditions of our people, so be careful.”

“What do you suggest?”

Daeron sat back down on the edge of Tur’s bed. “Say nothing of your intentions for a few days, until he is sure Evvy is well. Then, respectfully ask him for permission to write to his daughter, after she returns home. Tell him you respect her decision to return home, that you would like to court her via correspondence.”

“I suppose he will feel more secure with all that distance between us.”

“He will. Evvy is even more precious to him, now that his wife is gone.”

Tur leaned back against his pillows. “I do not understand that; you said yourself she was a shrew. I would think he would be relieved.”

“He will be, in time, but at this point, he fears the empty space she left. He needs to figure out what he wants to put in her place.”

“’The demon you know is better than the demon you do not?’”

“Exactly. Or at least that is what Evvy’s mother told her. The best thing for Ohtar is time with his daughter, and if you show him you agree, it will help him trust you. But be prepared; Ohtar he will insist upon the full year-long engagement, once the silver rings are exchanged.”

Tur sighed. “I cannot think that far ahead,” his eyes fell to his lap. “If my _Gwîb_ never comes back to life, I will not cheat Evvy out of a proper marriage.”

“Then do as I say: relax, get well and while she is gone, learn to get back to your own life.” Daeron placed his hands over Tur’s. “Learn to be _you,_ again.”

***************

**20th of December 2944 T.A.**

“You did good, sweetie,” Rhian had walked Evvy up and down the corridor of the Healing Hall twice, and after settling her back in bed, placed a hank of yarn over her hands and began winding it into a ball.

“What are you making?” Evvy asked.

“Socks, socks and more socks,” Rhian sighed. “My son outgrows them faster than I can keep up, and Daeron wears his out because he’s on his feet all day at the H.H. in Dale. It’s funny; I reinforce the heels and toes with thread, but it doesn’t seem to do any good.”

“I would like to learn how to do that,” Evvy watched the bright colors flow through Rhian’s fingers in fascination. “It’s so pretty.”

Rhian’s hands stopped moving. “You don’t know how to knit?”

“My mother would never allow me to learn,” she shrugged. “She said it was ‘beneath’ me.” Evvy shook herself with a small laugh. “It is funny, now. When I was with _Naneth_ and Malach at their cottage by the sea, I saw a spinning wheel and a basket of knitting.” 1

“That must have been quite a shock,” Rhian said, her voice carefully neutral. 

“It was, but then, it was not; I do not know how to explain it. So many bad things were wiped away, and I understood her better. It makes it easier to forgive her for those lost years.” 

“You have a nice memory to replace the bad ones,” Rhian sighed as her eyes fell to the growing ball of yarn in her hands, and she wound it faster. “You are lucky.”

“What do you remember about your mother?”

“Hardly anything; she died when I was six. But sometimes I get flashes of memory: soft cheeks, a nice singing voice, and warm arms…” she looked off into space. “I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but I wished it were my father who had died and not my mother.”

“I do not think it is so bad, considering. I am sorry you never had a chance to reconcile with your _Ada.”_

“Oh, Phylip was never a real Da to me. Ben is my father now, and he makes up for a lot.”

“But his shadow lingers, I think,” Evvy let the last of the yarn flow through her fingers, and Rhian tucked the end in and set it down with her needles. “Perhaps if you tried to forgive him, you would be free of it.”

“Daeron says that, too,” the young woman sighed deeply. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything; you are my friend,” Evvy smiled.

“If your mother hadn’t come around before she left, or you hadn’t seen her in Valinor while you were unconscious, would _you_ have forgiven her?”

Evvy clasped her fingers together in her lap and considered the question. “I think so,” she answered honestly, “but it would have taken me a great deal of time to accept what my _Adar_ always tried to explain to me.”

“But you would have, in time?” Rhian asked.

“I do. Once I knew what she was going through, it helped me understand that her problems had nothing to do with me. I was not the cause of any of her behavior, and in the end, I realized that the one she hurt most of all was herself.”

“Ben says that, once, too. About Phylip, I mean. Don’t get me wrong; Da’s still plenty disgusted with him, and we don’t really talk about it. One day, when I was working at the Castle, I was looking through some records for Lady Hilda…” Rhian crossed her legs and folded her hands over her knee. “I hadn’t had an anxiety attack for over a year, mind you, but seeing Phylip’s name on that list just brought it all back. I left the office shaking like a leaf and ran into Lord Thranduil in the hall. He dragged me into his office, gave me a strong drink and wormed it out of me.”

“What did he say when you told him?”

“He listened to me, and didn’t tell me how to think or feel, bless him, but when I was done, he handed me his handkerchief – which he is famous for, by the way – and asked me if he could tell me some things.”

“What things?” Evvy’s brow furrowed.

“Well, he never mentioned Phylip’s name, but he talked about what it was like to lose his wife. For a long time, he simply tried to stay alive, because his _fëa_ had been torn in two.”

“Yes; that is what happens when an Elf loses a bond-mate,” Evvy’s head moved up and down in agreement. 

“Daeron and I are bond-mates, too,” she raised her hand when Evvy started to ask. “It’s a long story, and I will tell you about after this, I promise.

“What Lord Thranduil wanted me to know was that even after the danger had passed, he wasn’t able to get on with things. In some ways, I went through the same thing, when I first had Darryn here at the Palace.” She smiled at Evvy. “I was so depressed I couldn’t even function. Luckily, I had help, and I got through it.

“But after I was moved into the apartment and Aunt Indis came to stay with me, Lord Thranduil said he made some inquiries about my father and my first husband.”

You told me about… Garth, was his name?”

“Yes, but that’s another story.” Rhian waved her hand dismissively. “Thranduil told that for years, Legolas was angry with him, but really, he was hurt, because he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t enough to help his father be happy again.”

“What did you say?”

“Oh, I really started blubbering again, because that’s what I felt, too. I wasn’t angry at Phylip, so much as angry with myself for the same reason Legolas was. Somewhere along the line, Lord Thranduil must have sent for Daeron, because he showed up and took me home.”

Evvy reached out and took her hand. “Did it help?”

Rhian smiled. “Some. ‘An Explanation isn’t an Excuse,’ as the saying goes, and nothing excuses the things done to us, but like you, understanding helps me forgive; not for Phylip’s sake, but for my own. I don’t want to walk around with that burden; I deserve better.”

“We both do,” Evvy squeezed her fingers. “What are your feelings toward Garth?”

“Well,” Rhian went quiet for a moment then spoke softly. “Daeron told me once that just after he put the baby to bed, he stood over his crib and spoke to Garth, wherever he was.”

“Did he tell you what he said?”

“Word for word: _‘I will not tarnish my life with Rhian or Darryn by carrying hatred in my heart. I cannot say I forgive you, but I thank you for my wife and my son. May you find peace, wherever you are.’” _Rhian threw her shoulders back and sat up straighter. “And I repeat it to myself whenever I think about him. My life is precious to me, and I’ve worked hard to get where I am, Evvy. I’ve had some setbacks, but by the grace of the Valar I got past a lot of it. Garth is dead, I chose to save my baby’s life over his, and I will never regret that. 2 He’s gone and doesn’t deserve even a minute of my day.”

“I suppose that is how I feel about Saeros, too,” Evvy murmured. “I do not hate him, and I hope he finds peace, but if he were still alive, I would not want to see him, ever again.”

“You are allowed to feel angry; he attacked you!” 3

“Physically and mentally, but Daeron thinks I will work through it.” She smiled at her friend. “I will miss you, Rhian, but I think I need to go home for my own sake, as well as my father’s. I think I need to learn to… trust myself, again.”

“Well, of course you do, sweetie!” Rhian leaned forward and held both hands. “You’ve been put through the worst of wringers. Saeros made you doubt everything, and that takes time to get over. And as far as missing me,” she gave Evvy a wry grin, “that’s what letters are for. And believe you me, I’ll be sending you bunches, so you’ll keep up with all the news in Dale,” she smirked, “and I’ll make sure you hear plenty about Tur.”

“I would love that,” Evvy let go of her hands and sat up, “and you must tell me all about Darryn, too. But before I go, would you teach me how to knit?”

Rhian reached down and grabbed her basket. “I brought extra needles for that very reason. Give you something to do up in those trees, and,” Rhian winked, “Tur could always use a nice scarf.” She held up a ball of purple yarn. “And this just happens to be his favorite color! So, let’s get you started…”

***************

**21st of December 2944 T.A.**

Bard and Thranduil stood with the Elvenking’s Council as Lord Celeborn’s party approached the Main Doors of the Palace. 

Once they dismounted and their horses taken away, they observed the formal salutations, then the cousins exchanged an affectionate hug.

“It truly is good to see you, _Ettā Celeborn,” _Thranduil smiled against Celeborn’s shoulder. “How is your wife?”

"She is getting stronger, praise Varda,” Celeborn returned the hug. “Master Gilfanon believes rest will cure her completely, if only she had the patience to endure it.”

“I see,” Thranduil’s thick eyebrows lifted toward his hair line. “Perhaps you are enjoying this respite more than you want to admit?”

Celeborn shrugged with a lopsided grin and said no more on the subject. 

Thranduil turned to Ohtar. “My Lord,” he placed his hand to his heart in a formal salute. “I am happy to greet you with good news. Evranin is doing very well and is expected to be released from the Healing Hall in a few days. She has been most anxious to see you; in lieu of any more formal introductions, shall I take you and Orlin to her?”

Thranduil studied the Elf before him, taking in the stoop of his shoulders and lines of worry and grief that marred his face. He was leaning heavily on Orlin’s arm for support, and his eyes were dull and grey with grief. Evvy’s mother was not exaggerating; he was not in good shape.

He met Daeron’s eyes, equally concerned, and waved his arm. “This way, if you please. The Lieutenant will fill you in on her condition while we walk, and I will have your things sent to your rooms and I invite you to dine in our chambers. For now, shall I send refreshments to Evvy’s room?”

“Please, My Lord,” Orlin answered. “My father needs the nourishment; he has barely eaten or slept since we saw the events in the Lady’s mirror.”

“I am sorry you had to witness such a thing,” the Elvenking understood Ohtar’s pain. Too quickly the image of Legolas’s broken body dragged from Pallando’s cave came to his mind, and he shivered. “There is much to tell, My Lord. As a matter of fact, Evranin herself has a remarkable story for you, and you will be very interested to hear of it.”

But Ohtar barely listened. All his focus was on the path ahead, where his daughter was waiting for him.

Daeron moved to the other side of Ohtar and grasped his other arm. “You must be tired after your long journey, My Lord. Let me help.”

Bard fell into step beside Thranduil, as Mithrandir and Celeborn followed, deep in conversation. “Ohtar looks like he needs a stay in the infirmary himself,” he whispered. “Poor fellow.”

“Let us hope Evvy can do him some good,” Thranduil murmured softly. “Valar knows he deserves some happiness of his own.”

“How long will they be staying?”

“The worst of the winter snows will be hitting us soon, and the road will not be passable. If they leave within the next week, with fresh horses, they might avoid the worst of it, but I do not know if Evvy is able to make the journey.”

“I was hoping to invite them to Dale for a few days, at least,” Bard rubbed his brow. “You do realize it’s Yule, don’t you? I’m sure the children want to come here, but that’s not fair to Tauriel. I’m going to have to go back tomorrow. I’d go today, but it will be dark soon.”

“Go tomorrow morning, _Meleth nîn_; as much as I love being with you, our family needs at least one of us for the Tale-Telling and the gifts.”4 5

“Speaking of which, where have you hidden the ones for the children? I can pass them out for you.”

“Cook has them,” Thranduil smiled. “No one would dare enter his domain without permission. I have also gotten them some extra gifts in my study, to make up for my absence.”

Bard took his arm and leaned into him. “I know you’ll hate missing Yule, love. Hopefully you can bring them all to Dale, before they leave.”

“It would certainly pacify our little one; she and Celeborn are fast friends and would be furious to miss him.”

“Don’t worry; we’ll work it out. Once the holiday is over, maybe I’ll pack Tauriel off to Erebor for a vacation, and we’ll all come here.”

“Could you? Oh, that would be wonderful!”

The yearning to see his family must have been written all over his face, because Bard laughed, put his arm around Thranduil’s waist and kissed his shoulder. “I’ll make it happen.”

They had just reached the doors of the Healing Hall, and by the time the Kings made it to Evvy's room, they found her wrapped in the arms of her father and brother, all weeping with joy.

"I know it won't make up for missing Yule with the children..." Bard began.

"This helps, _Meleth nîn,"_ Thranduil swallowed down the lump in his throat. "It really does."

His Bowman kissed his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Gi nathathon Gwador nîn; gi nathathon. _– I will help you, my sworn-brother. I will help you.

_Penig ‘ûr a gi fuion, ci orch ‘waur! _– You are heartless, and I am disgusted with you, you dirty Orc!

**NOTES:**

[1] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 24: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53959351>

[2] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 29: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/26920293>

[3] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 18: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/52298323>

[4] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 32: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/36684912>

[5] From _The Book of Lost Tales;_ Volume 1, J. R.R. Tolkien, pg. 260: “_That was the day of Turuhalmë or the Log-drawing. "Twill be a fitting day,' saith Lindo, 'for the sports of the morning in the snow and the gathering of the logs from the woods and the songs and drinking of Turuhalmë will leave us of right mood to listen to old tales beside this fire.' ... and the company from Mar Vanwa Tyaliéva went into the snowy woods to bring back firewood on sleighs._

_Never was the Tale-fire allowed to go out or to die into grey ash, but on the eve of Turuhalmë it sank always to a smaller blaze until Turuhalmë itself, when great logs were brought into the Room of the Tale-fire and being blessed by Lindo with ancient magic roared and flared anew upon the hearth.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't seen it, perkynurples has a new Barduil romance story! It's called "A February Face," and you have to check it out because it's adorable!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511554/chapters/53791930


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendship is renewed, an important matter is settled, and Turamarth gets by with a little help from his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Thank you so much for your patience, dear readers, and I assure my time away was fruitful: I sewed over 100 masks and many scrub caps that were sent all over the country to various relatives and groups, from California, to Pennsylvania, to Florida, North Carolina and Texas. 
> 
> My sewing machine is tired, and while we are nowhere near back to “normal,” I think I need a break. I have missed my characters and more importantly, I have missed YOU! I continue to keep you all in my prayers that you are safe!
> 
> Love to you and all yours, and let me know in the comments how you are, please?

* * *

_“When I need you_

_Just close my eyes and I'm with you_

_And all that I so want to give you_

_It’s only a heartbeat away…_

_Miles and miles of empty space is between us_

_A telephone can't take the place of your smile_

_But you know I won't be traveling forever_

_Its cold out,_

_but hold out,_

_ and do like I do_

_When I need you…”_

** _Written _ ** _by** Albert Hammond/Carole Bayer Sager**_

** **

**The Woodland Realm, 21st of December 2944 T.A.**

Turamarth heard the commotion in the corridor of the Healing Hall, and laid his book in his lap, as the Kings and the party from Lothlórien walked past his door. His fingers nervously fumbled with the pages, as he spied the tall, silver-haired Lord of the Golden Wood, followed by Evvy’s brother who was supporting her father, Ohtar. He assumed it was Ohtar; they had never formally met before the attack the night of Ivran’s and Cwën’s wedding. _Ai!_ He looked so pale, so weak! 

Seconds later the joyful cries of their reunion reached his ears. Evvy murmured words of comfort and assurance to her father, who obviously had buried his face in her hair, from the muffled sobs of sorrow and of joy.

Of course, Tur was happy for her; she needed her family now, and the best place for her would be home. If he loved her, he would only want what was best for her, yes?

His sensible, logical mind told himself this was right, but his heart and _fëa_ cried out for her to stay, marry him and let them begin their life together as soon as possible.

But an Elven marriage meant physical joining, to become one with her, and it just wasn’t possible, now. Tur sighed as he tossed the book on the nightstand, laid back and stared up at the ceiling, as he resolved to be brave about all of this. Daeron was convinced that his dysfunction was only temporary, that is was only a matter of time, but what if he was wrong?

“Hello, Lieutenant,” a voice he had not heard in many months was accompanied by a soft knock on his open door.

Tur’s eyes flew open and when he realized who stood before him, he scooted back up into a sitting position to face the tall, blonde Galadhrim at his door. “Rúmil?” he swallowed nervously. “It is you,” he said stupidly, as he smoothed down his hair.

“It is me. I would like to speak to you, but if that is not what you wish I will not force you.” Rúmil did not move. “Might I come in?”

He didn’t meet Rúmil’s eyes but swept his arm toward the chair beside his bed. “Yes, of course.”

“I was not sure you would be happy to see me,” the Warden said, as he sat down. 1 “I very much regret the broken trust between us, and have prayed for you daily since last we spoke. No matter what you think of me or my people, I still continue to regard you as a good friend.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I wish we could be as close as we once were.”

Tur swallowed down the lump in his throat and licked his lips. Then he turned his gaze upon Rúmil and met his eyes. “I have thought about you,” he managed to say. “I know I blamed you for… things, but I do realize you did what you must.” He extended his hand. “I am sorry for throwing away our friendship. Can you forgive me?”  2

Rúmil took it gratefully. “There is nothing to forgive!” he said earnestly. “Oh, I have missed you, _Mellon_ _nîn!” _he placed his other hand on top and squeezed. “I have missed your laugh, your playful antics, and I look upon my time in that apartment in Dale with great fondness, Tur. It was one of the best times in my life.”

“I am afraid those days are gone.“ He gave the Warden a weak smile, as he shrugged. “When I first returned, I went to stay with Daeron and his wife, and they looked after me. I am still with them; I sold the apartment to Ruvyn.”

“That was nice of them to help you,” the Warden observed.

“They saved me, Rúmil. So many times I wanted to give up,” he smiled wryly, “but they would not let me give in to despair and became quite stubborn about it. The secret weapon was my little nephew, Darryn.”

“I remember him! He was but an infant when I was in Dale, but very sweet.”

“Well, that _infant,”_ Tur laughed softly, “is now an active little boy, but he is still just as sweet. His innocent joy helps me believe there are still good things in this world worth living for.” He gave Rúmil a sidelong smile. “When last we met, I said I had no memory of happiness. But slowly, it has come back, thanks in no small part to that child, and to all who have cared for me. I am beginning to see the good in my life, now, though I must work at it.”

“Is it easier?”

“It takes a great deal of work, still, but I know enough to see Evvy is one of those good things.”

“Truly?” the Warden leaned forward.

“I was afraid I would lose all feelings for her, but praise the Stars, I have not, and we have become closer.”

“So, you two have…”

“We know how we feel about each other, and that is enough, for now. I can do little more without her father’s permission.” Tur twisted around a little to face his guest. “Evvy is returning with you to Lothlórien, did you know?”

“We have only just arrived, so no. Mithrandir met with our party on our way, and the Eagles offered to take Evvy’s family with them, but Óhtar was too frail, and Orlin was afraid he could not hang on. But we rejoiced when the message arrived that Evvy was recovering. You two have declared?”

“Not yet. Evvy fears for her father’s health, and from the glimpse I had of Ohtar…”

Rúmil shook his head ruefully. “He is in a bad way, though I am sad to see the two of you separated again, it is better if she returns with him.”

“I hate to see her go, as well, believe me. but Ohtar but I will not stand in her way.”

“Speaking of Evvy,” the Warden eyes widened slightly, “was she as near to death as the reports tell us?”

Turamarth nodded. “Daeron saved her life, and only after a great deal of effort. It is not my story to tell, though I hope Evvy shares it with you, for it is nothing short of miraculous.”

Rúmil leaned forward. “They also tell me you were also in danger; will _you _be all right?”

“I should be thankful I escaped with my life, and mostly I am, but…” his fingers fumbled nervously. “Well, there was a blessing that came from nearly drowning.”

“How so?”

Tur took a deep breath and instinctively grasped at his gold necklace. “I have a better chance at recovery than I did before, thanks to the gift the Lady and her daughter gave me.” He turned to face his friend. “I spoke with her, Rúmil; I saw and spoke with Lady Celebrian, and she… she did what even Lord Elrond could not. I think I will no longer be… haunted by the things Pallando inflicted upon me.”

The Warden’s face lifted into a wide smile. “This is wonderful news! Soon you will be your old self again!””

“I do not know. To be honest, I feel like I lost part of myself after last summer...” His voice cracked. “I do miss those time at the apartment, and I miss the Elf that I used to be, more than you can imagine.”

“None of us are the same, Tur,” Rúmil gave his hand another squeeze. “Maybe the best we can hope for is to find a way to put it behind us. I have faith in you. You might be hiding in the shade now, but soon I think you will regain confidence in yourself and in life again.” He pointed to the Guardian’s heart. _“You_ are still in there, _Mellon_; I know it.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed, then changed the subject. “How are things now, in the Golden Wood?”

“Well,” the Warden leaned back in his chair and rested his ankle on his other knee, “we behave in the same ways as before, celebrate the same festivals and sing the same songs…” Rúmil’s eyes fell, and his voice became soft. “Things appear the same, but no one wants to admit how hard we work to make it so.”

“Maybe I am doing the same,” Tur admitted. “I play the part, say the right words, and hope the feelings come… To a great degree, it has worked,” he swallowed. “But not always, and not with everything...” He waved his hand dismissively. “I do not want to dwell on it. Tell me more of Lothlórien, please.”

“Lord Celeborn ordered that Cave destroyed, the clearing in front has been stripped and replanted with the Lady’s blessing to banish the Black that might remain. Still, no one comes near it.”

“I do not blame them,” Turamarth’s mouth was grim.

“Neither do I. We have set up a memorial plaque in one of the gardens to honor those who lost their lives in the attack, and even now, my people set flowers before it.” Rúmil met his eyes. “Your fellow Guardians will never be forgotten.”

“I am glad to hear it.” A fresh wave of pain swept over him at the memory of his lost friends. “But if your friends were anything like mine, they would want us to look ahead, and not dwell on tragedies that can never be changed. We must go on, yes?”

“Not just go on, Tur,” Rúmil put his foot down and reached over to grasp his arm. “They would want us to be happy, to enjoy our days, not just endure them.”

“Yes, they would.” Turamarth rested his hand on top of Rúmil’s. “They would also want us to stay friends, so that is what we will do.”

_“Reitho men añ glass a hirmen ha,_ _Mellon_ _nîn_,” Rúmil smiled.

“Yes, we will.”

When the Warden left his room, Tur closed his eyes and gave thanks that another weight had been lifted from his heart.

The next afternoon, he made his way to Evvy’s room, and was surprised to find her alone.

“Where are your father and brother?” he asked. “I thought they would hardly leave your side.”

“_Ada_ is resting, and Orlin is visiting with Daeron and his family.” She motioned for him to come inside. “I was hoping to have a chance to see you.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” he quipped as he took his seat. After a pause, he said quietly, “You are leaving soon, are you not?”

“I am afraid so,” she nodded. “There has been a break in the winter weather, and if we do not go in a few days, we will be forced to wait until spring.”

“Would I t be so bad, to stay for another few months?” his mouth curved up slightly.

“Oh!” she heaved a frustrated sigh. “I feel torn in two! I am excited to go home, for I have missed it, yet I have just…” she reached for his hand. “We only just found each other, and I do not want to lose that. Why does it have to be this way?”

Turamarth took her hand, laced their fingers together and kissed the back of her hand. “I do not want you to go either, but it is best for now, _Erbain nîn_.”

A shy smile crept across her face. “‘_Erbain nîn?’”_

_“Ae, ma thand...”_ Her hand remained in his, as he reached over with the other and lightly traced her hairline. “From the moment I saw you, Evvy, I thought you were the most beautiful _Ellon_ I had ever seen.” His finger swept over the spray of freckles. “I especially find these charming.”

“Do not tease me,” she winced and wrinkled her nose. “I have never liked them.”

“No,” he murmured. “Never say that, Evvy. Everything about you is perfect.”

“Do you really think so?” her huge brown eyes shone.

“Even if it were possible, I would change nothing about you,” he cupped her cheek. 

“You are wonderful.”

“What does Orlin say about us?”

“He is happy, and wishes us well, though it means I must leave our home.” Her face became anxious. “Tur, I know you have bad memories of Lothlórien, and it breaks my heart! I love the Golden Wood, and I fear it will always be a chasm between us. I wish you could have had a chance to discover it’s beauty, and its magic for yourself!”

He slowly let out a breath. “It is…difficult, but for you, I will try.”

“Oh, Tur,” her face crumpled. “If only my father was not so ill…”

“But we both need more time to recover, do you not agree?” he kissed her hand again. “It is right that you put your father’s needs first, and when he is well, we can look to the future and the life awaits us.”

“You truly believe we have a future together?” She bit her lip.

He hesitated, not sure what to say. “We still have problems to overcome, Evvy,” he said, finally, “and when we think of all that tried to keep us apart, it can seem insurmountable, to be sure—"

“But you must believe in us!” Evvy’s spine stiffened. “Much has happened, but there are also extraordinary things that have brought us together! You were viciously attacked, but you have been given a rare gift and so have I!” She pointed to the opening in his tunic, where the gold chain that held his yellow jewel. “Did you not tell me Lady Celebrian herself banished the Darkness that had been haunting you? And is my survival not a miracle? I personally met with with some of the Valar, Tur! _The Valar! _Lady Nienna herself gave me one of her tears! Oh, Tur, how quick you are to forget all that Mithrandir told us just a few days ago! Why are you afraid?”

Tur’s insides stirred with lingering doubt. Should he tell her that he cannot be a proper husband to her, not yet? What if he can never make love to her, no matter how much he loves her? What if at their joining, he envisions the same scenario that had haunted him for months?

But still.

Why would Galadriel and Celebrian go to all the trouble of helping him, if there was no hope for a full and happy life with her? What of all Mithrandir spoke of, the Sun-Star and the Moon-Star and their destiny? 3

Yet the unresponsive mass at his groin told a different story, and it was hard to ignore.

But still...

Faith requires believing without seeing.

True and lasting love requires a leap of faith.

So, for all his hopes, for love, _for Evvy,_ Turamarth took a deep breath, and jumped.

“Yes,” he murmured, never looking away from her eyes. “I believe it.”

Evvy smiled, opened her arms and he gladly went to her and held her tight. 

“I do love you,” he whispered into her hair and spoke his Declaration. “You are my One, Evranin, daughter of Óhtar. You and no other.”

At last, he said it. Tur’s throat tightened, his eyes stung, and he had to swallow hard to contain the emotions that broke free. 

“And you,” she answered her chin raised and voice sure, “are my One, Turamarth, son of Ómar,” “You and no other.”

“Evranin?”

“Yes?” her arms tightened around him.

“I want very much to kiss you. May I?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “I would like that.”

He pulled back and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, and searched the deep pools of her eyes for several minutes. His gaze fell to her full, pink lips that were raised, ready for him. Slowly, he lowered his head and gently captured her mouth, reveling in its softness. When she whimpered softly, he closed his eyes and lost himself in her sweetness, again and again.

When they broke apart, there were tears in his eyes. “You are everything I want, Evvy; I love you.”

“And I love you, Tur, with all my heart.”

He sat on the bed and put his arm around her, and she sighed with happiness as she leaned against him. He rested his head against hers and when closed the scent of mint and white flowers filled his nostrils, he inhaled deeply, so he would remember it when she was gone.

”Evvy?”

”Hmmm?”

“I think I should speak with your father, as soon as possible; I want to show him – and you – every respect.”

_“Ada_ is expecting you, though I think he will receive you with some reluctance.” 

“If I had such a treasure for a daughter, I would not give you up easily either _Erbain nîn.”_

She smiled up at him happily. “’Beautiful One...” I am flattered, but why do you not call me _Aewpîn_, like everyone else does?”

“There is nothing that is little about you, anymore.” He raised her face to meet his eyes. “You fought like a bear in that cave; you stood up to Saeros, protected those children, and” he booped her nose, “you saved my life, remember? You are not the same the shy bird, afraid to leave the nest, are you?”

“Perhaps not,” she murmured. “I feel... like I am more, now.”

“It is true; he kissed the top of her head. “You know how to fly, and I am so proud of you.”

She reached out and cupped his cheek. “I know what my name for you will be. I will call you _Naur __nîn_, for you are my very own Sun that warms me when I am cold, and you give me courage to grow and be everything I want to be. The light you shine on me makes me believe we can do anything.” She covered her mouth and giggled. “We are foolishly sentimental, I think. Were Daeron and Rhian like this?”

“They still are,” Tur rolled his eyes. “Only now I think it will not annoy me so much. If Rhian were here, she would call us “Sappy.”

“’Sappy…’” Evvy snickered again. “I like that word.”

“That is well, for I plan to remain thus, and put my _Gwador_ and _Gwathel_ to shame. You, Evranin,” he kissed her hand several times, “I could call you _Cýron nîn_, my New Moon, but _Erbrain nîn_ you will be to me.”

Then he kissed her soundly, but his worry still niggled at the back of mind...

What if...?

***************

**22rd of December 2944 T.A.**

Daeron entered his _Gwador_’s room with a smile. “Ivárë has decided to release you from her clutches today!"

“Yes, she was in earlier, and told me.” Turamarth was fully dressed and his belongings lay in a neat pile on his stripped bed. “But first, might I speak with you privately?”

“Of course,” Daeron shut the door and studied his cousin’s face. “You look different,” he said.

“I hope you mean in a good way,” Tur made a face.. 

“I do. There is a peace in you that I have not seen since…”

“Rúmil and I have mended our friendship, and that grudge has been put to rest.” Turamarth gave him a small smile. “We have promised to write often.”

“That is wonderful news, but,” Daeron crossed his arms and cousin through narrowed eyes. “There is more, is there not? Please, do not worry about your ‘problem;’ but I think you should not declare for Evvy until—”

“I have already done that,” Tur scrunched his eyes shut. 

“You have?”

“I could not help myself; she was there and so lovely, it seemed so right...”

Daeron sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you propose marriage?”

“Not yet.” But we spoke the words; she was my One, and I am hers. And we kissed.”

“I see…” he chewed his lower lip. ““So… you have not spoken to Ohtar,” he said.

“Not yet, but I want to, before they leave.” He gulped. “Did I make a mistake, _Gwador?” _He ran his fingers over his scalp as he paced back and forth. “What if I will never be able to—“

“Enough of this worry; we will get you out of here, and go see Mithrandir. No!” Daeron raised his hand to stop Tur’s objection. “Your future happiness is at stake, as is Evvy’s! Is that not worth a few minutes of embarrassment to know for sure? How difficult is that, compared to what you have already been through? You must do this!”

”For Evvy,” Tur groaned, and looked up at the ceiling. “I will do this for Evvy… For Evvy. Keep reminding me of that, will you?”

“Every other minute,” Daeron grabbed his arm and helped him up. “Let us get your things.”

Praise the Stars, Mithrandir was easy to find, and he was alone. Daeron had Tur firmly by the elbow to keep him from running away, then knocked on the door of the Wizard’s guest suite. 

“Daeron?” he answered the door in a comfortable robe. “Tur! You are released from the infirmary? Come in, and have a seat, please! I was just enjoying a quiet smoke and a glass of wine. Can I get you some?”

“Tur will need a big glass, I think,” Daeron got him settled. “We need to speak with you privately, if you would allow it.”

“Certainly. Let me get you some drinks. Would you like some tobacco?”

“No thank you, but you enjoy yours.”

Mithrandir handed Tur his glass, and Tur emptied it in one long pull. Daeron’s shook his head slightly before handing his _Gwador_ his own goblet, who nervously finished that off in the same manner.

The Wizard’s eyebrows shot up, but he bided his time, as they sat in silence.

Several minutes later, when Tur’s left knee began to bounce up and down, Daeron couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Mithrandir, we came to see you, because,” he sighed and gave his cousin a quick sidelong glance. “We - or rather, Tur - is desperate for your help.”

”Here, Lieutenant,” Mithrandir reached over and poured the Elf more wine. “You look like you need it. Now one of you tell me what’s wrong; I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.”

“My cousin has a problem,” Daeron said, “that is beyond my skill to heal.”

“Anything I can do to help, of course. What is it?”

Turamarth opened his mouth to speak. “I…” he began, then quickly emptied his glass, before Daeron could stop him.

“Allow me to explain,” he said. “You are aware of the nature of his injury, yes?”

“No.” Bushy grey brows wrinkled in confusion. 

“Even I do not know all the details, but allow me to relate the gist of it to you…” with a quick glance to his cousin, Daeron related what he knew of Pallando’s attack on Tur’s _fëa_. The Wizard’s hand went to his mouth, and soon the confusion was replaced with utter fury.

“That monster…” he growled. “If he were not already dead, I will kill him again, just for that.” He looked upon the younger Guardian with compassion. “I would drink, too...” He poured Tur glass, and the Elf drank it down in one long pull.

“Go easy on that stuff, _please_,” Daeron urged them both. “It is the King’s Dorwinian.”

“Actually, Celeborn brought it from Haldir’s personal stores. Quite an excellent vintage, this is.”

_“_Perhaps for you, Mithrandir, but it knocks most Men and Elves on their _nulav! __Ai, gorgor…”_ Daeron pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Well, it is too late now.” He turned back to Wizard. “I am happy to tell you that much of the effects Tur has suffered have been relieved, thanks to the Lady Celebrian, but there is still a problem…”

“A big problem,” Tur muttered. “Or, rather, a small problem, that will not _get _big.”

“What?” the Wizard stared at the Guardian. “What is he talking about?” he asked Daeron.

“There is… Well, Tur still has difficulty… _functioning, _you see, and he—,” he waved his hands in circles, “well we, need to find out if it is temporary or permanent.”

“What is this problem?”

“What he said,” Tur reached for the bottle, but Daeron managed to grab his hand in time. “I do not_ ‘function.’”_

Mithrandir gave him a skeptical glance and returned Daeron’s gaze. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, if you want my help.”

“As you know, Tur is a male Elf, and as a _male,_ we normally… when we are with…”

“With who?” the Wizard’s face pinched. 

“Well, normally when we… I mean when I am er...’with’ my…wife?” Daeron’s face blazed with heat. “I cannot believe how difficult this is to say. I am a Healer, but this is something I have never encountered in all my years…”

“You are having problems with Rhian?” Mithrandir’s eyes grew larger.

“No!” he put his hands up in protest. “Not at all! We… er, ‘function’ very well, that way. But Tur—"

“Oh, for Valar’s sake!” Tur spat. “It is my_ Gwîb!”_

“What about your _Gwîb?”_

“I cannot ‘get it up,’ as the Men of Dale would say! I do not, and have not since that day, and if I cannot _puith_ Evvy, then I cannot consummate our marriage, then our _fëas _cannot join, and if our _fëas _cannot join, we can never be married!” Tur waved his empty glass in the Wizard’s direction. _“You_ said we were meant to be together, but how can that be, if I cannot..._puith _the _Elleth_ I love!”

Mithrandir’s jaw dropped, and he stroked his beard. “Oh, my… You mean, not... at all?”

“No! And I want to, very much!” Tur weaved back and forth. _“Ai, I want her,_ Mithrandir! She is the loveliest, kindest, bravest _Elleth_ I have ever met, but I cannot marry her if... And I want to marry her, and have children with her beautiful hair, and my eyes, maybe...” his eyes closed in misery.

“I get the general idea,” the Wizard stopped him, then cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, I can see why you would be upset…”

“Upset? I am…_devastated!”_ the Guardian buried his face in his hands. “I would not come to you, if I were not desperate. I want so much…”

“Truly if I had any way to treat this, we would not bother you with something so personal,” Daeron put his arm around his cousin, who was now feeling the full effects of Haldir’s wine. “If you cannot help him, no one can.”

“Ah, I see,” he said. “I have no personal experience with this sort of thing, but it will not hurt to try.” He waved at Tur, and patted his footstool. “Come over and sit before me.”

Daeron hauled the half-drunk Elf to his feet and sat him down. “No, no, no...” he groaned as Tur listed to one side. “You must sit up straight, yes?”

“Just help me, please…” Tur whined.

“I will, my young friend,” Mithrandir grabbed his face and held him very still, while he looked deeply into his greenish eyes. “Mmm hmmm…” he turned his head slightly to the left and to the right. “No; keep looking at me…” his blue eyes pierced into Turamarth’s and held them for many minutes, then he closed his eyes and murmured a spell so softly, Daeron couldn’t make out the words. 

Finally, he released the Elf’s face with a smile. “Your skills with fighting the Black are still a bit new, Daeron, which is understandable, and with experience you will see such things.”

“I missed something?”

“Worry not, my young friend; whatever still remained when he met with Celebrian, was taken care of entirely.” To his cousin, he said. “All you need is time, Tur. The Lady of Rivendell drew out what was left of the poison, but the wound needs to finish healing, do you understand? You _will_ get better, I promise.”

“I will?”

“You will. Your _fëa_ can truly begin to heal, now, and when your joy comes naturally, your body will also be healed.”

“Do you hear that, _Gwador?”_ Daeron patted Tur’s back, which sent him pitching forward into the Wizard’s lap. “Oops!”

“Thank you,” Tur’s hands fisted into the grey robes and he kissed them. “Thank you…”

“You’re welcome,” Mithrandir laughed, “but you’re also drunk, I am sorry to say. Blessings be on you both, and be sure to invite me to the wedding!”

They both hauled Turamarth to his feet and helped him toward the door.

”I can _puith _the_Elleth_ I love!” Tur waved his arms as they stumbled down the corridor. Every guard in the vicinity, their friends and colleagues, avoided their eyes but smothered smiles. 

Daeron rolled his eyes and managed to keep him upright. “Shush! Do you want the entire Palace to know about your sex life?”

”Yes!” Tur shouted gaily. “Because I will have one!”

”I am happy for you,” he muttered, “but one more word out of you, and I will knock you out and carry you! You had better pray Öhtardoes not hear about this!”

“Mmmm hmmm,” his _Gwador_ settled against him with a serene grin, as they stumbled through the halls.

“Daeron?” Tur lifted his head from Daeron’s shoulder. “Could you take me to see Evvy’s _Adar_ now?”

“If I did that, he would _never_ give his consent.” Daeron chuckled. “We will visit him tomorrow. For now, I am taking you to our rooms, so you can sleep it off.”

“Thank the stars Darryn is down for his nap, or he’d be screaming with excitement,” Rhian said, as she helped her husband put Tur into his bed. 

“Mrrfff nrrrgh,” Tur said, as he flopped over onto his stomach and smacked his lips. “Bbbbbssss....”

“How could he get that drunk just from walking from the infirmary?” she pulled off his boots, loosened the ties to his tunic and covered him with a blanket. After fondly stroking his forehead, she kissed his cheek and they exited the room, closing the door behind them. “What did you do to him?”

_“I _did not do anything,” and put his arm around her shoulders. “Tur was a bit...unsure about something, so I took him to see Mithrandir, he drank almost an entire bottle of Haldir’s wine...”

”Oh, no!” Rhian’s hand flew to her mouth. “What the... Wait,” she shook her head. “Never mind; I don’t want to know.”

“Good, for I cannot tell you, and please do not ask him.”

“Can you at least tell me if Gandalf helped him?”

“He said Tur just needs to be patient, and things will resolve on their own.” Daeron suddenly swooped his wife in his arms and twirled her around. _“Ai, Hervess nîn;_ at last we are sure that Tur will find the same happiness that I have found with you.” He lowered his lips to her and capture her mouth. 

“Mmmm…” Rhian’s hands went up and lost themselves in his hair and returned his kiss. 

Then—

“Wait!” her eyes popped back open. “Did you just tell me you’re positive Tur and Evvy will marry?”

“Yes,” he kissed the tip of her nose. “They have declared for one another, and tomorrow, Tur will go see Ohtar for permission to court her. I do not know when, _Hind Calen_, but it will happen!”

She squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Daeron! That’s the best news I’ve heard since all this stuff happened! We should throw a party to celebrate! _Nana_ and I can put together a special dinner and I can make a cake—"

“Yes, it is good news,” Daeron murmured, ‘but perhaps you and I could have our own private celebration, first.” He untied the stays of her dress and pulled it down to expose one of her shoulders. “You are so beautiful, Rhian.” He kissed the smooth skin as he inhaled the flowery scent of her hair, mixed with the light musk of her skin. 

Rhian stepped backward and held his gaze as she took the pins out of her hair. Daeron licked his lips as she shook her long, wavy locks free. “You’ll have to show me _how_ you want to celebrate,” she gave him a sly smile as she took his hand and led him into their bedroom.

And he did. Twice.

* * *

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS: **

_Ae ma, thand _\- Oh yes, it is true

_Cýron vuin nîn _– My beloved Moon

_Erbain nîn _– My Fair One, Tur’s pet name for Evvy.

_Gwîb – _Penis

_ Hervess nîn_ – My wife

_Naur nîn _– My Sun

_nulav - Arse_

_Puith_ – have sex

_Reitho men añ glass a hirmen ha,_ _Mellon_ _nîn – _We will strive for joy until we find it, my friend.”

**NOTES:**

[1] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 28: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/45143632>

[2] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 19: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/43555352>

[3] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 28: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/55219411>


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Meren Turuhalmë,” means “Joyous Yule, and our Bowman has a surprise to help his Elf celebrate. Most of the Woodland Realm enjoys the Feast, but one poor Guardian tries to rest up for an important meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my good buddy, Golden for all her wonderful lyric prompts!

The morning sun was peeking through my blinds, and as I rolled away from the light to sneak in a little more sleep, I wasn’t entirely surprised to see I wasn’t alone. This can’t be good for my blood pressure.

> _“Oh, for God’s sake… What the hell’s the matter now?” _
> 
> _“First of all,” Bard said. “We understand why you had to take a break to help with this pox that’s been plaguing your people, and it is good to have you back with us, but we,” he looked to his companions, “the cast and I are wondering why you are dragging out the month of December in his story! Come on, Wenderful, how long can one month be?”_
> 
> _“Well,” I sat cross-legged and adjusted my pillows. “there’s just so much that had to happen, you know? I’m sorry to cause any inconvenience, but—"_
> 
> _”Oh, stop,” Bard waved his hand. “You aren’t sorry; you live for this shit.”_
> 
> _Tur stepped forward, “While I wish you hadn’t dragged out Evvy’s suffering – and my own, as well – I am grateful to you for resolving my… er, difficulties.”_
> 
> _“What difficulties?” Evvy asked. _
> 
> _Behind her, Daeron shook his head with a menacing glare._
> 
> _“Er… It’s nothing,” I assured her, “at least, it won’t be when the time comes; don’t worry about it.”_
> 
> _“If you’re sure…” she said, skeptically._
> 
> _Tur put his arm around her shoulders. “She revealed the plot to me a short time ago.”_
> 
> _She glanced warily at me. “And it is… a good one?”_
> 
> _“You’ll see,” I said._
> 
> _I addressed the rest of the group. “Now, as for dragging out the month, I hear what you’re saying, and I agree. The pace will definitely pick up after this chapter, but you have to keep in mind that my readers do like their fluff, and…they still want lots of the “Elf Thing,’ so—”_
> 
> _“’The Elf Thing?’” Celeborn made a face. “Pray tell, what is that?” He turned to his cousin. “What does she speak of, Thranduil?”_
> 
> _The Elvenking leaned in and whispered in his ear, and his curious was replaced with utter horror. “Surely not! She…writes about that? She does not do so with Galadriel and I!”_
> 
> _ Thranduil’s jaw dropped, and he glared at me. “Is this true?”_
> 
> _Bard wasn’t happy either. “Why do only some of us have to have our personal life paraded for all to see? Do you have any idea how hard it is for us to make sure the kids are out of the way when you write that? Celeborn and Galadriel don’t have any children to worry about, yet you give them all kinds of privacy! Tell me we’re not the only ones who have closet sex!”_
> 
> _“Bard!” Thranduil’s hand quickly covered Tilda’s ears._
> 
> _“Cut that out, Ada!” _
> 
> _“Rhian and I have sex,” Daeron said, looking uncomfortable. “Though we have never done it in the closet…”_
> 
> _“Oooh,” Rhian’s eyes brightened., “it does sound like fun, though…” _
> 
> _“Well, the closet in our bedroom is not big enough, but there is that big cabinet by the front door for our armor and weapons,” Daeron considered. “That has a lock on it.”_
> 
> _“From the outside!” I reminded him. “Now, come on, guys; I didn’t really set out to—”_
> 
> _“Does that mean that we…” Evvy’s hands flew to her face. “You wouldn’t!”_
> 
> _I winced. “Well… My readers are expecting a real humdinger for your wedding night…” I spread my hands in a helpless shrug. “I can’t disappoint them!”_
> 
> _“Does Tur know?” she turned to her intended and skewered him with a look. “You know about this?”_
> 
> _“Well… he doesn’t know everything…”_
> 
> _“I do not?” Tur’s forehead furrowed in alarm._
> 
> _“Nope.”_
> 
> _“What are you planning?” Evvy took a step forward. “Will you at least tell me?”_
> 
> _I rolled my eyes and crooked my finger, “come here and I’ll tell you, but the same warning goes for you: you reveal this, and I’ll write the entire thing out.”_
> 
> _Turamarth, urged her along. “Go on, Erbain nîn.”_
> 
> _Evvy leaned down and lent me her ear. As I whispered, her brown eyes became huge as saucers, and her cheeks flushed a bright red. “Really?”_
> 
> _“Really,” I smirked. “You think you’d like that?”_
> 
> _“Hmmm,” the Elleth bit her lower lip. “...yes,” she decided, “I think I would.”_
> 
> _“Would what?” Tilda wiggled out of Ada’s grip._
> 
> _“I do not see why you will not at least tell me,” Thranduil complained. “I am their King, and—”_
> 
> _“Oh, stop,” I waved my hand. “You’re just curious. And Evvy isn’t your subject.”_
> 
> _“But Turamarth is, and I demand—”_
> 
> _“Ah, ah ah….” I wagged my finger. “You want me to stop the closet sex?”_
> 
> _“Well… no…”_
> 
> _“Then I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you. Do you know how long it took me to put my room back together after you and Bard commandeered my closet? Pull that crap again, and I’ll get rid of ‘The—”_
> 
> _“Oh, stop,” Thranduil waved his hand. “We’ve been through this.”_
> 
> _“Are we done here?” I gave the Elvenking a dirty look. _
> 
> _“I think so,” Bard quickly looked to his companions. _
> 
> _“Then out.” I pointed toward the door. “Now.”_

…and that’s when I woke—

> _ “Wait! Wait! I almost forgot!” Bard handed me a large ceramic mug. “With a shot of vanilla, as per your request.”_
> 
> _“Thank you!” I waved goodbye to them and closed my eyes as the delightful scent of coffee filled my nostrils. I held the cup to my lips and was about to_ _take a sip—_

…and **that’s** when I woke up…

Crap.

* * *

_Take a look into my eyes, tell me what you see_

_Take a look into my eyes, tell me is it true_

_Take a look into my eyes, oh when I look at you_

_Take a look into my eyes, tell me is it me?_

_Is it really me?”_

** _ “Mirror, Mirror,”  _ ** _ by** Def Leppard** _

**The Woodland Realm, 22nd of December 2944 T.A.**

Celeborn was having a private lunch with Wardens Cwën and Airen and their spouses, and Legolas was attending the Winter Solstice tournaments with his friends, so the Kings decided to enjoy a private meal in their chambers.

Despite all the drama of the past weeks, the Elves of the Woodland Realm didn’t neglect their preparations for the Yule Festival. The Halls were decorated with sprigs of greenery, the Log was waiting near the Indoor Arena, ready to be set alight during the Feast tonight. Naturally Thranduil invited his guests from the Golden Wood to be his guests of honor.

“_Meleth nîn_, loathe as I am to part with you, should you not be on the road to Dale soon? I see no preparations being made.”

Bard shrugged nonchalantly. “I decided to wait until tomorrow.”

“But why did you not say anything?” the Elvenking head jerked back slightly.

“I’m sorry love; guess I forgot.” He popped the last piece of bread into his mouth. “Are you anxious to get rid of me?”

“Do not be silly; of course, I hate to part with you! I will miss you at the Feast tonight, but you have already missed some of the Celebrations in Dale; you cannot disappoint our children!”

“I hate to, but now that we know Celeborn and his party won’t stay, I need to speak Evvy about the library in Dale,” he picked up his cup of tea and took a drink. “It was supposed to be ready early this summer, and I don’t want to put it off.”

“Yes, of course you are right,” Thranduil agreed pensively, as he picked up an apple and started to cut it up. “I do hope she will return some day, but what if she does not? I am certain Turamarth will want to marry her, and I do not want to lose one of my best officers!”

“I’d hate to see him go, love,” the Bowman sighed, “but has it occurred to you that Celeborn probably felt the same way when Cwën and Airen moved here? Yet he didn’t stand in their way.”

“Nor will I,” he sighed and leaned forward to feed Bard a slice of his apple. “He suffered a great deal, and deserves every chance at happiness.”

“Maybe that’s why you needn’t worry, love. After what he went through, I think it would take an act of _Eru_ to get Tur back there. Have you noticed the look on his face every time someone mentions that place? It’s perfectly understandable.”

Thranduil finished and wiped his hands on his napkin. “Celeborn may not share your tolerance.”

“He’s too smart for that. Wherever he ends up, we’ll wish Tur well.”

The King’s rose and made ready to return to the infirmary. When they closed the door to their chambers, they spied the very Elf they were discussing leaning heavily on his cousin, as they headed for the entrance to the Royal Wing.

“Uh oh…. Did Tur get turned down?” Bard’s forehead wrinkled.

“I do not think so; they were coming from Mithrandir’s rooms,” he pointed out. “If he is still unwell, he should be in the Healing Hall.”

> _Tur swept his arms out and nearly tripped over his feet, “I can _puith_ the _Elleth_ I love!”_

“He’s not sick,” Bard’s eyebrows headed for his hairline, “he’s drunk!”

_“Ai, gorgor…”_ the Elvenking covered his mouth in horror.

“I wouldn’t worry, love; Daeron’s got him.”

> _“…one more word and I will knock you out and carry you! You had better pray Óhtar does not hear about this!”_

“Looks like the wedding’s on!” Bard grinned. 

“What did Mithrandir _do_ to him?”

“Whatever it was, I’ve got a fiver that says Haldir’s wine was involved. Óhtar’s not in his rooms, is he?”

The Elvenking shook his head. “Orlin took him to visit Gwindor and tour my libraries.”

“Praise _Eru_,” Bard blew out slow breath, “or _that_ would have been a short courtship.” 

Just then one of the guards entered the Royal Wing, and after a curious glance at Daeron’s and Tur in passing, met Bard’s eyes and gave him a nod.

_“Meleth nîn_?” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What is going on?”

“You’ll see.” Bard grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

Thranduil followed his husband through the Palace, across the walkway by the Dining Hall and to the Main Doors, where a wagon just entered. When the flap was pulled back, his heart leaped with joy.

“_Ada!” _Tilda waved at him.

_“Tithen pen!”_ the Elvenking rushed toward the wagon and picked her up. “Oh, my little love! Whatever are you doing here?”

“Weeellll,” she said, as he wrapped her arms around his neck. “Bain and me don’t have school. We did the Tale-Telling, last night at home,” Tilda said, “but Da said we could come for the Feast here!”

“Is Sigrid with you?”

She shook her head. “Sigrid had to stay and work at the Games today, in case anybody gets hurt, but I missed you, and I want to see Celeborn!”

“I missed you too, _Hênig_,” he laughed. “I am sure he will be thrilled to see you,” Thranduil wiggled her nose, then put her down.

Thangon popped his head out with a woof, and jumped down, followed by Bain.

“Hi Da!” The boy hugged his father, then grabbed Meryl, who was barking her displeasure at being left behind. “Guess who else came?”

Galion was exiting the wagon, with the assistance of his new husband.

_“Galion!” _the Elvenking gave his Aide a hug. _“Meren Turuhalmë, __Adar-nauth!” _he clasped Rôgon’s wrist. _“Meren Turuhalmë_, _Mellon_ _nîn.”_

“_Meren Turuhalmë__,” _Rôg returned the greeting, as he looked around at the greenery and lights. “The Palace looks festive.”

“Were Tauriel and Sigrid upset to be left behind?”

“Nuh-uh,” Tilda shook her head. “Sigrid asked Ermon for some time off for New Year’s and she and Tauriel are going to spend it with Uncle Daín!”

“She is?” Thranduil asked Bard with not a little alarm. _“You allowed her to go?”_

“I don’t see why Sigrid could go, and I can’t,” Bain scowled.

“Adults only,” Bard shook his head. “They get pretty raucous over there. I’m not entirely happy about Sigrid going either, but—“

“But Da-a—“

“But Bard—"

“She’s old enough to make some of her own decisions,” Bard insisted. “Sigrid will be staying with Tauriel, and she’ll make sure nothing happens to her.”

“She could’ve done that for me, too,” Bain frowned.

“When you are eighteen, young man, _and,”_ his father said firmly, “when you are _invited.”_

“What is done is done. Bain, I hope you do not find our _Mhereth Turuhalmë _too boring for your tastes? Perhaps will see if we can, as Percy says, ‘liven it up?’” He tousled Bain’s hair and kissed Tilda’s cheek. “Come; let us get you settled in your rooms.”

“Galion,” the Elvenking spied Galion taking a wooden box case from the wagon. “You do not need to do that; we will have your luggage brought to your rooms.”

“It is not ‘luggage,’” Rôg’s tone held little enthusiasm. “My husband could not bear to be parted from his beloved pet.”

_“Our_ beloved pet,” Galion corrected. as he put the case down and reached for the latch. 

“Galion, _Mîr nîn, _perhaps we should wait until reach our rooms?" 

“Nonsense,” the Aide smiled, as he lifted the lid. “He will love it here—"

A low rumble reached Thranduil’s ears, increasing in volume by the second. Rôgon reached down to stop his husband, but it was too late. A furious, spitting, hissing, black-and-white blur jumped from his prison, and landed on the floor, every hair standing on end. 

With a loud yowl, the cat took off, quickly followed by Meryl, who was barking with glee. 

_“Lorda!”_ Galion cried. _“Ai, gorgor! Nandalo, vuin nîn! Nandalo!“_

“Meryl!” Tilda yelled. “Don’t chase Uncle Galion’s cat! You’re scaring him!” 

The Aide and the little girl took off after them, arms waving.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Thangon’s tongue lolled happily and his tail wagged as he decided to get into the spirit of things and join in the merry chase.

“Go get ‘em, Thangon!”

“Bain!” Bard hissed. “Just for that you can go after them and help. Go on!”

“Fine!” the boy growled before he set off at run.

They made noisy parade, as the shrieks of the startled the Elves who had to jumped out of the way added to the chorus.

_“Hautë, Thangon!” _Bain waved his arms. _“__For pity’s sake, Hautë!_ _Tilda, will you get your stupid dog under control?”_

“Don’t yell at me, Bain!” Tilda shouted over her shoulder. “And Meryl’s not stupid!"

Legolas ran out from the Dining Hall and into the fray. “Bain? What are you doing here?”

“Surprise!” Bain waved at him with a grin as he ran over the walkway. “We need to rescue Galion’s cat! Come on!” 

_“Ada?”_ he looked to Thranduil, who shrugged and motioned for him to follow.

One of guards managed to get his hands on Lorda, but dropped with a howl of pain.

_“Naeg!”_ the Elf clenched his teeth as he shook his hand. _ “Tan rhach muron nathent nin!”_

The blacksmith cursed under his breath. _“_Freya offered stop by the house and feed him while we were gone, but Galion would not hear of it it. He is convinced Lorda would pine for him! It is ridiculous!”

“Aye,” bubble of laughter in Bard’s throat, “but unless you want to sleep on the couch, Rôg, I suggest you go after them.”

“Naergon…” he grimaced, as he reluctantly trotted after his husband. 

Any semblance at self-control was gone, and Thranduil erupted in mirth, and soon everyone in the vicinity joined in the merriment. Once he could catch his breath again, he wiped his eyes. “Oh, dear,” he said, “poor Galion… think this might be lively enough for Bain?”

“Let’s hope so,” Bard grabbed his stomach with a happy sigh. _“Meren Turuhalmë, Meleth nîn!” _

***************

Darryn was staying over at his grandparents, so his parents could enjoy the Feast and dancing. Rhian was radiant a lovely gown made in Elvish style, and rubies in the jeweled combs Haldir had given them offset the crimson silk.

_“Meren Turuhalmë, Hind Calen,” _Daeron’s heart quickened at his lovely wife, as he took her hand and kissed it. “I will be the envy of every Elf at the Feast, when you walk in on my arm.”

“And what about you?” She smoothed down the blue satin of his new tunic embroidered with silver. Rhian had gifted him with this, new leggings, and high, shiny boots. “You’ll make all the young _Ellyth_ weak in the knees, you’re so handsome!”

“I am so glad you could be here for this, _Meleth, nîn. _I have always loved _Mhereth_ _Turuhalmë _at the Palace.

“I can’t wait!” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Will Tur be all right here by himself?”

“I think so. I doubt he’ll wake before morning, but I placed a cup of willow bark tea next to his bed, just in case. He still plans to speak with Evranin’s father in the morning.”

“Hungover like that?” Rhian winced. “He’ll never let them marry!”

“He has little choice; Lord Óhtar is a traditional Elf. You and I did not follow Elven customs to the letter, but Tur will have to.”

“You said something about ‘Declaring?’”

“I did. It is called the _Pedo beth canwa. _Tur has told Evvy she is his One, that he wants no other, and Evvy told him the same.”

“We didn’t do that,” Rhian pursed her lips.

“We did,” Daeron gathered her to him with a grin, “in our own way. We were in your kitchen, I was covered with cake batter, and you had that odd-looking poultice on your nose.” 2

“Oh, sure,” Rhian giggled, “_that_ wasn’t exactly romantic.”

“I would not change a thing, _Hind Calen,” _Daeron ran his knuckles gently over her cheek. “But I did ask your father’s permission to court you, which he granted. A year ago, I gave you my mother’s silver ring and here we are.”

“Here we are,” she sighed. “We didn’t have to wait an entire year, thank the Stars…” Rhian mused. “Do you think Evvy’s Da will say yes?”

“In our Gwador’s current condition? No.” He laughed softly as he laid his cheek on the top of her head. “But I’ll do my best to get him upright tomorrow, and we will hope for the best.” He lifted her face kissed her softly, and lost himself in her lovely emerald eyes. _“Gi melin, hervess nîn.”_

_“Gi melin, Hervenn nîn.” _She sighed happily. “Thank you for making all my dreams come true.”

He took her hand and tucked it in his elbow. “Shall we dance?”

The food was delicious, the music was merry, and the Elves swirled gracefully around the Dining Hall, to the many traditional dances, many of which Rhian already knew.

“She is breathtaking,” Lord Thranduil observed, as they watched her with Lord Celeborn. The jewels in her hair caught the light and her dress flounced around her small figure as she wove in and out of the other Elves. She was laughing at something Celeborn said the radiance on her face made her even more beautiful.

“She certainly is.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

Bard and Tilda finished their dance, and headed in their direction.

“Hello, Tithen Pen!” the Elvenking held out his arms and pulled her into his lap. “Soon you will be too big for this, _Hênig._”

“Uh huh! Auntie Hill got me new skirts and shoes for Yule; I outgrew my old ones. And Tauriel got me two new pairs of leggings, too.”

_“Ai!”_ the Elvenking lamented. “Too fast, much too fast.” He adjusted silver dragonfly in her hair. “Did you enjoy your dance with Da?”

“She’s the belle of the ball, aren’t you, Beanie?” Bard nibbled on some of the sweetbreads at the table.

“Rhian looks really pretty, Daeron.” Tilda took a sip of her juice.

“Almost as pretty as you,” he grinned. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Orlin gesturing to him. “My Lord, might I beg you leave?”

“Of course, Lieutenant; enjoy yourself.”

Daeron headed across the Hall, but not before he took a slight detour to swipe the wine Bain was about to drink.

“Hey!”

“Your fathers said you could have _one_, which I saw you consume thirty minutes ago.”

“How do you know that?”

The Elf smirked. “It is my job to know.” He gazed down at the dark liquid. It was the strong stuff. “And you were _especially_ told to avoid this.”

“Aw, come on, Daeron,” Bain pleaded, “Just one more? Please?”

He let the boy squirm for a moment, then grabbed another glass from a passing servant. “Very well, but only this. If you do not attempt to sneak any more, I will keep this between us; do we have a bargain?”

Bain rolled his eyes, but took it. “Thanks.”

Daeron drank cup he had taken from the boy, and patted him on the shoulder. “_Meren Turuhalmë, Mellon nîn.” _

He reached his friend, who was watching Airen and Cwën with their husbands, and Daeron spied Rúmil among them, dancing with Ivárë who was laughing at something he said.

“I am glad to see the Mistress Healer enjoying an evening off.” He smiled at Orlin, “What do you think of _Turuhalmë _in the Woodland Realm, _Mellon nîn?”_

“I am enjoying myself very much.” Orlin’s lifted his chin toward the crowd. “You wife is quite popular this evening.”

Though Rhian was enjoying a dance with Rúmil, her eyes sought out her husband, and when she found him, her lips moved in a smile that warmed his heart. After giving her a wink, he turned back to Orlin.

“Where is your father?”

“Spending a quiet evening with Evvy, of which I highly approve. Since they have been reunited, _Ada’s_ has shown improvement. The dull grey of his eyes has begun to recede, and they are brighter.”

“That is joyous news, Orlin. I marveled that he managed the trip at all. He could barely walk when he arrived.”

“Ai! If I had known the depths of his grief, I would have prevented him from watching the events in the Lady’s mirror. He was convinced our beloved _Aewpin _was dead, and sadly, so did I.”

“Evvy told you what happened, yes? About your _Naneth?”_

“She told me everything!” Orlin’s face lit up with quiet joy. “Evvy was kind to _Ada_ and did not say much.Thankfully, her tale of the Halls of Mandos fascinates him, as did her encounters with the Valar. She also gifted him Nienna’s handkerchief.”

Daeron’s brows lifted in surprise. “What a gift to be given for Yule! It is priceless!”

“Ada was moved beyond beyond words; it the first time I have seen delight in his face since…”

“Last summer?”

Orlin nodded. “My sister wants him to keep it with him?”

“Maybe she was meant to give it to him. Do you think it has healing properties?”

“I certainly hope so.” Orlin took another goblet from a passing tray, replaced it with his empty one, and held it up with a knowing smile. _“Mellon nîn, _while I am sure your concern for _Ada _is genuine, shall we speak of what is uppermost on your mind? You want to know if my father will receive Turamarth, and grant his request, yes?”

“Am I that transparent?” he asked, as his gaze once more landed on his wife

“Only to your good friends. It is not surprising; you love your cousin as much as I love my sister. I can tell you that Evvy has shared the depth of her feelings, and _Ada _was loathe to accept them, at first. I think if she would not be coming home with us, he would refuse to see Tur.”

His heart sank a little. “A great deal has changed since you were here last, but my _Gwador’s_ feeling toward your sister have not; you have my word on that.” He met his friend’s Grey eyes and became serious. “Evvy looks up to you, Orlin; I must know your own thoughts.”

The Galadhrim answered in the same tone. “Will Turamarth truly make a full recovery? I like the Elf, but do not wish my sister marry someone who could not protect or provide for her.”

“He will. We went to see Mithrandir after he was released from the infirmary.”

“I was hoping to speak with Tur myself,” Orlin looked around the room. “Why is he not here?”

“Ah, well, there was a slight… incident, and your Marchwarden is partly to blame. You see…”

Daeron did not reveal the true reason for their visit, but when Orlin learned of the amount Tur had drunk of what he thought was Dorwinian, his eyes bulged, and he choked on his own drink.

“You cannot be serious!” he sputtered. “That is as much as you drank at your Stag Night!”

“Yes, and I threw up all over my King the next morning. 3 Unfortunately, my cousin did not tolerate the wine very well, and Tur must go see Óhtar tomorrow morning.”

_“Ai, horn!”_ Orlin’s hissed inwardly through gritted teeth with a shudder. “Evvy has already told Ada to expect him.”

“You should know,” he put his hand on Daeron’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, “that my sweet, delicate sister has threatened to cut my hair off in my sleep, if I do anything to stand in their way. Had she not, I still would have approved, _Mellon. _Tur is a worthy and honorable Elf, and we would never give her up to anyone less worthy.”

“I am glad you said that,” Daeron sagged with relief, “because I need your help...”

**23rd of December 2944 T.A.**

The next morning, Tur was hauled out of bed, given copious amounts of strong tea, and as many healing spells as Daeron could administer. He managed sober him up enough to keep him upright, but his _Gwador_ still looked green around the gills, and he stumbled several times as they made their way to the Royal Wing.

“I do not know if I can do this,” Tur moaned.

“Well, you have to! Your entire future happiness is at stake!”

“You are not helping.”

“It is now or never, _Gwador;_ they leave early tomorrow morning.”

Turamarth slumped against him with a miserable moan and grabbed his middle. “I will make a fool of myself, and he will never give his consent!”

“I will be there help you. Try not to be nervous; it will only upset your stomach.”

“My stomach is already upset.”

“Whining will not help, either,” Daeron said as he raised his fist and knocked on the door of Óhtar’s suite.

***************

Orlin came out into the hall, shut the door behind him, and took in the sight of the bedraggled Elf. “You look terrible, Tur.”

“I feel terrible.”

_“Ai, naergon,”_ he shook his head slightly. “I am afraid there has been a complication_,” _he whispered._ “Adar _has decided to invite you and Tur to breakfast.”

Daeron’s jaw dropped. “You must be joking!”

“Food?” Turamarth scrunched his eyes shut and groaned softly. “What are we going to do?”

“What _can _we do?” Daeron hissed. “Suck it up, and hope for the best.” 

“Are we ready?” Orlin asked.

“No, but open the door anyway. Stand up straight, Tur!”

_“Ada,” _Orlin plastered a smile on his face and reopened the door with a flourish. “Lieutenant Daeron and his cousin Lieutenant Turamarth wish to speak with you_.”_

_“Maedol, Mellyn nîn,” _Ohtar smiled from his seat. _“Tolo, govado ven.”_

Tur’s swayed a little as he eyed the table laden with food, and an unnatural noise escaped his lips.

“I would be delighted, My Lord.” Daeron plastered a smile on his face. “And so would my cousin. Is that not right, Tur?” he elbowed him in the ribs.

_“Urp—“ _

“—He would love to, as well.”

”Excellent! Take a seat and make yourselves comfortable.”

Orlin pulled out a chair and they both helped him sit. Daeron took the seat on the other side, and laid casually his arm across the back of his cousin’s chair, and grabbed a fistful of his tunic to keep him from falling over.

“Please; help yourself,” Óhtar he waved his hand over the meal. “Daeron, your mother and her staff are a credit to the Woodland Realm.” The Archivist picked up his knife and gently tapped his egg and lifted the top.

Tur’s eyes glazed over, and he swallowed several times. 

Daeron quickly threw a dry roll on his plate with a nervous chuckle. “My _Gwador_ is not much for a heavy meal in the morning.”

“That is odd; my son tells me it is the most important meal of the day.” Óhtar dipped the his toast point into his egg yolk until dripped before consuming it with relish. “Mmmm… exactly how I like them; a bit on the runny side.”

Orlin looked on in horror as his father spooned some porridge into a small bowl, then passed it to Daeron. “You must have some, and make sure Turamarth is given a generous portion. I am told he was released from the Healing Hall only yesterday, and he needs to build up his strength.”

Orlin glanced down to see the poor Elf’s knuckles were white as he gripped the sides of his chair. “My Lord Óhtar...”

“Please; we do not need titles among friends, do we? This is a casual visit is it not?”

“Well, n-no…” Turamarth sat at attention, and focused on a spot somewhere on the opposite wall, “I must speak with you on matter of great importance.”

“Important to whom?” Óhtar tilted his head with a quizzical look.

Orlin met Daeron’s nervous gaze, and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. They could only keep the Elf from passing out; beyond that, Tur was on his own.

“Important…” the Elf took a couple of deep cleansing breaths and cleared his throat. “Important to me personally, and I believe it is also important to your daughter.”

“I see.” His Adar touched the corners of his mouth with his napkin and replaced it in his lap. “Would you like to explain why?”

“I… uh… I have deep feelings for Evranin—“

“Just deep feelings? Nothing more?”

“No!” Tur cried. “I-I mean… Yes. There is more.”

“How much more?”

“I am in love with her.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because I have felt the _Ehtë Raumo...”_

“That is not enough of an answer,” Óhtar said. He clasped his hands together, placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I ask you again, _Ellon-neth: _what makes you believe you are in love with my daughter?”

“Because…” Turamarth throat bobbed in a hard swallow, “Evranin is very beautiful; the most beautiful _Elleth_ I have ever seen. But it is more than that, My Lord. She is kind, and intelligent, and though she can sometimes be shy, I know there is also a core of steel in her.” His bleary eyes began to fill. “When we were in that cave...”

Orlin froze, wincing inwardly.

“Go on,” Óhtar murmured quietly.

“I d-do not wish to upset you, My Lord, but you need to know how brave Evvy was. She offered her life for that of the children,” he closed his eyes as a slow tear rolled down his face, “and though I would never have asked it of her, Evvy saved my own life.” 

Tur’s hand trembled as he pushed his plate away. “Evvy would have done that for _anyone_ who had a knife an inch from his throat, not just me. I am a Guardian, My Lord; it is all I ever wanted to be, what I was born to be. I see the same strong instinct in her, and I admire that. But even that is not why I love her. 

“I love your daughter because, when I see something beautiful, I want to share it with her. When I see something harsh, my first thought is to protect her from it. When something is funny, I want to tell her, because she has the most wonderful laugh...” Turamarth’s voice became soft, “I love her, because I just…_do, _My Lord; I cannot tell you more than that. I know it is proper to only seek permission to court her, but I cannot do so without saying how much I want her to be my wife.”

Orlin held his breath, as his _Ada_ sat back and scrutinized the Elf across from him. Daeron’s eyes fell to his lap, but Tur held his Óhtar’s gaze, for several agonizing minutes.

No one moved...

Then—

“Permission granted.” 

Tur blinked. “You mean…”

“You may court my daughter, Lieutenant. We will speak again.”

“_Ci fael, Hîr nîn, _Turamarth breathed._ “A_ _Belain hanni!“ _His body caved in on itself, and the greenish tinge once again appeared on his face.

Daeron was quick to act. “I think I will get my cousin back to his room, My Lord; he is still a bit… tired from his ordeal.”

“I understand,” Óhtar said with a benevolent smile. “I myself have not been well, but seeing our _Aewpîn _has helped a great deal. I wish you a speedy recovery, Lieutenant.”

Tur mumbled something barely legible, as Daeron grabbed his elbow and hauled him off the chair

“I will see our friends out, _Ada.” _Orlin dove forward, grabbed the Elf’s other arm, and they rushed him through the door. Once in the hall, Tur barely made it to a nearby potted plant before he started to heave.

“Will he be all right?” Orlin’s nose wrinkled.

“Eventually.” Daeron rubbed his cousin’s back. “We are in your debt, _Mellon_.” He pulled Tur’s arm over his shoulders and grabbed his waist. “Come, _Gwador; _let us get you back to bed.”

The poor Guardian moans echoed all the way to the end of the hall.

Back in the apartment, Orlin narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “You knew.”

Óhtar shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “What gave it away?”

“I have never seen you eat boiled eggs before today. And you despise porridge.”

“Mithrandir came to see me while you were at the Feast. He had no idea it Turamarth would have such a reaction to Haldir’s concoction and he asked me not to hold it against him.”

Orlin sat down again with an incredulous stare. “You enjoyed this!”

“Perhaps, but any Elf in his condition, who could sit through that,” Óhtar lifted his mug in a and touched it to Orlin’s, “is worthy of our _Aewpin_, do you not agree?”

** **

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Adar nîn _– My father

_Ai, gorgor! Nandolo, vuin nîn! Nandalo! – _Oh, horrors! Come back, my darling! Come back!

_Ai, horn! – _Oh, shit!

_Ai, naergon – _O evil fate

_Ehtë Raumo_ – (Q.) Lightning Bolt (lit. “Storm Spear”) Sometimes, when an Elf first encounters his or her bond-mate, they can feel a powerful, emotional response, like lightning.

_Ellon-neth _\- Young man

_Maedol - _Welcome

_Mellyn nîn _– My friends

_Mheren Turuhalmë – _(I wish you a) Joyous Yule

_Tan rhach muron nathent nin!_ – That cursed tom-cat bit me!

_Tolo, govado ven – _Come, join us.

**NOTES:**

[2] _An Invincible Summer, _Ch. 50: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/39139588>

[3] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 53: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/39824019>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed that I had originally placed Evvy and her family in the Children’s apartment in Chapter 30, but since it’s a writers prerogative to change her mind, I fixed it and the Bardlings will be staying in their own rooms.
> 
> And I recast Galion to better match his character in Two Thrones. What do you think of Óhtar; isn’t he delicious? I love Elves...


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evvy and Tur share a last evening together before she leaves. Still worried, Tur pays an visit to a friend to gain perspective.
> 
> And in the process, he (and we) learn something interesting about “The Grey Pilgrim."

Yes, our state is still on lockdown, because people keep dying here at an alarming rate. I’ve been busy making masks and scrub caps, and shipping them all over the place, still feeling like it can't begin to make up for the suffering and the loss so many are facing.

I know it’s been a little while, and things have been far from normal for everyone, but this past ten days has been even less normal.

The real reason for the delay in posting is that I had been trying to nurse my old, diabetic cat, who suddenly stopped eating. After five days, it was clear that he was just not going to recover, and it seemed only right to help him cross over the Rainbow Bridge with a maximum of affection and a minimum of pain. 

It really was the right thing to do. Or so I told myself as I held him in my arms and he fell into his forever sleep. I told myself again when I returned home to clean up his dish and place it with the other things on my memory shelf.

And for three or four days, I told myself again, as I just kind of… sat. 

It’s been awful. 

Ten years ago, he walked in our house as a stray, jumped into my lap, pointed to a chunk of my heart and claimed it as his own. And I gave it to him, knowing that, as with all pets, one day we would have to say goodbye.

From the first chapter of this Two Thrones Series, he sat beside me while I typed this story, nipping at my fingers, filling my Word docs with capital T’s or A’s, or making the screen change on my touchpad. He was a colossal pain the ass about this, but I loved shaking my head and complaining to him. 

He was my friend and companion for ten years. 

I miss him.

* * *

_“You just call out my name_

_And you know wherever I am_

_I'll come running, to see you again_

_Winter, spring, summer or fall_

_All you have to do is call_

_And I'll be there_

_You've got a friend…”_

** _ Written  _ ** _ by** Carole King** _

**The Woodland Realm, 23rd of December 2944 T.A.**

A formal farewell feast was scheduled this evening for Celeborn and the rest of the Galadhrim, but this afternoon Ivárë released her patient to attend the small private party for Evvy and her friends in King Thranduil’s chambers. 

“I refuse to say goodbye,” Airen gave her a hug. “We will see each other again, soon; I will make sure of it.”

“Thank you for sharing your home with me,” Evvy’s voice was laden with emotion. “What would I have done without you, here?”

“You would have been fine, _Mellon_ _nîn_,” the Warden grasped her shoulders and smiled into her eyes. “I always knew you were a fighter; and now you have discovered it for yourself.” She pulled Evvy into her arms again. “Oh, I am so proud of you, _Aewpîn! Ai! _ I promised myself I would not cry,” Airen laughed as she wiped away her tears. “Have you and Tur talked about the future?”

“My _Adar_ urges us to write often and get to know one another, before we make definite plans.” Evvy’s gaze traveled across the room, where Turamarth was speaking animatedly with Rúmil and Daeron. When he instinctively turned his head to meet her eyes her stomach shivered with excitement. “But for now, _Ada_ has given permission for Tur to spend the evening with me.”

“Alone?” Airen’s eyebrow rose. 

“Not exactly,” Evvy blushed. “Ivárë wants me to go back to my room in the Healing Hall, and the door will remain open.”

“I am surprised Orlin went along with that; he is even more protective than Óhtar. Still,” a slight frown creased her forehead, “they _must_ know Tur would never do anything to dishonor you!”

“Ah,” a voice said behind the Warden, “but how do you know it is Turamarth’s behavior I am worried about?”

Airen’s head whipped around. “Orlin! You are wicked!”

“Perhaps not,” Evvy winked at her brother as her mouth lifted in a mischievous smile. “Perhaps I will give into temptation and throw myself at him.”

“You would not!” Airen scowled and smacked her friend’s shoulder lightly. “You two might not fully understand what it is to be a Guardian, but as a Warden I can tell you they value honor as much as we do.”

“Alas,” Evvy’s shoulders heaved in a loud sigh. “I was so hoping…”

“You see why I have to watch her?” Orlin rolled his eyes as he sat down. “My sister is positively shameless in her newfound confidence.” 

“Stop teasing!” Airen slapped the _Ellon’s_ arm playfully. “But seriously, will you and Tur speak of your plans?”

“He asks that we only think about courting for now. I do not mean to imply that he has no intentions to marry,” Evvy’s face grew serious, as she turned to her brother. “but he was so badly hurt in last June... Do you not remember how he looked when he was taken to the wagons to go home?” 1

“I do,” Orlin put his arm around her shoulders. “His eyes are back to their normal color, and he does not look so_… starved,_ for want of a better word.” He turned and inclined his head toward the Lieutenant. “He appears healthy and strong, but… No.” he shook his head softly, “I am not worried for your virtue, dear _Aewpîn_,” he kissed her temple.

“Is there something wrong with him, still?” Airen’s eyes widened with concern. 

“I have heard nothing,” Orlin said thoughtfully. “Still, I trust Daeron’s judgement; and he believes in Turamarth. And, I believe in you.” He smiled down at his sister. “The Lady is most anxious to see you.”

“_Nana_ said I am to look to Galadriel as a mother, for now.” Evvy smiled.2

Airen bit her lip, and said carefully, “I am glad you and Lady Vériel have reconciled, and she is happy now, but that does not replace years of neglect. I do not mean to insult her—"

“No; you are right,” Evvy took her hand. “Besides helping my father, I look forward to this time with the Lady.”

She leaned against her brother’s shoulder with a smile. “You and _Ada_ have been wonderful, but there are things only a mother can teach, and… Once I marry Tur, I will not have a chance like this.”

Orlin lifted his arm and hugged her to him. “No one deserves it more than you, _Aewpîn_ _nîn_.”

Gwindor approached, wine in hand. “Might I join you for a moment, Evranin?”

“Of course,” Orlin got up and offered his seat on the couch. I am going to mingle, _Gwathel.”_

“I will check on Elion,” Airen kissed her cheek and followed him.

Evvy motioned for him to sit. “How are your grandchildren, _Hîr nîn?”_

“Please, _Muin nin,”_ Gwindor sat his glass on the low table and took Orlin’s seat. “I am not longer your boss; can we part as friends and equals? To answer your question, Dylan and Rowena are well. My son tells me they have the occasional nightmare - which is to be expected – but they will soon be back to their active, mischievous selves.”

“I am happy to hear it. Gildor and Nielthi are well?”

“Nielthi has taken some time off from her duties to be with the children, but they will return to school next week. Worry not, _Hênig_,” he smiled. “All we need is time.”

He took her hand in both of his. “I want to say how much I will miss you in the libraries, Evranin. I will see to it your vision for the library in Dale will proceed as planned.”

“It was an honor to learn from you, as well. My father hopes one day to show you the Lord and Lady’s collection of books and artifacts.”

“He has extended the invitation,” Gwindor smiled. “I hope to make the trip soon. Will you return to your duties there when you return?”

“No,” Evvy shook her head, “But I will not be idle. I will be working on the book Lord Elrond commissioned from Daeron.”

“But surely he will need his books while you are gone?”

“Not to worry. My brother has copies of much of them in Lothlórien, and I have several crates of drawings and notes. I will hoping to have a draft ready by summer.”

“I look forward to seeing it on the shelves,” Gwindor nodded toward Óhtar. “I like your father very much. Who knows?” he laughed. “Maybe he and I will have our own, ‘exchange program?’”

***************

“Did you have a good time, _Erbain nîn_?” Turamarth tucked her hand in his arm as they walked back to the Healing Hall.

“I did,” she rested her head against him. “Oh, I want to go home, but I hate the thought of leaving you!” 

“I know,” he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I will hate to see you go. But it will not be forever, _Meleth nîn_.” He paused and turned toward her. “Look after your father, Evvy. I do not say this simply because I seek his approval.”

“You do not?” Evvy laughed softly.

“Well, perhaps that is some of it,” he snickered, “but not all. I…” he grew serious, he struggled for the right words. “Lady Vériel was right: Óhtar smiles, but there is still great sadness behind his eyes, and it pains me to see it.”

“You felt the same,” she reached up to stroke his temple.

“Yes,” Tur’s eyes fell with a sigh, then rose to gaze into her brown depths. “I am blessed to have had my family to lean on these past months. When I look back and see the depths of my despair it frightens me. Óhtar is a good _Ellon_, and had he refused my suit I would still wish for his healing.”

“And I will do everything I can to help him,” she smiled, “starting tomorrow. This evening is _our _time, Tur. Let us spend it making warm memories to keep us while we are apart.”

They enjoyed a quiet dinner in her room, and after, Tur held her in his arms and they spoke softly, sharing their thoughts and lives with each other. He lifted his finger and gently touched her nose.

“What are you doing?” she asked through lowered brows.

“Shhh! I am counting your freckles. _Min, tâd, nêl, canad…”_

“Stop that!” She laughed and slapped his hands away. 

“But I have always wanted to count them,” he pouted. “Will you not let me? Please?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Not yet.”

“Oh, really?” he jerked his head back. “When?”

“When I say so,” she gave him an impertinent smile. “How else can I be sure I will see you again?”

“You wound me,” he clasped his chest, “how could you think I will not be counting the minutes until I can hold you like this?”

“If my freckles torment you so,” Evvy wrinkled her nose and rubbed it against his. “then I am holding them hostage, until…”

“Until when?”

“Until I say so,” she said again.

_“Nae!” _he sighed. “You are a cruel taskmaster.”

Once their laughter died down, Turamarth ran his fingers through her hair, marveling at its golden color, and how it smelled like lilacs. He memorized the feel of her face and the softness of her lips.

_“De i mhelethril e-guil nîn,_ _Erbain nîn_,” he whispered, as he kissed her behind her ear.

“And you are the love of mine,” caressed his cheek, then moved her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down for a long, deep, unforgettable kiss.

It was beautiful. 

  
Long after he left the Healing Hall, he stared up at the ceiling of his own bedroom, and thought about that heart-pounding kiss, and how Evvy’s breaths quickened and the her soft moans, as she opened her lips and they explored each other’s mouths. 

His _fëa_ had soared, and a hot thrill began in his spine then traveled through his body, making even his fingers and toes tingle with excitement and desire.

But not everywhere.

How could a kiss like that have no effect? What if the Wizard was wrong?

With a deep sigh, Tur slid his hand along his stomach, beneath his underclothes and rested on his cock. He began to massage it, willing it to hardness, but still there was nothing. He tried to imagine making love to her, pictured her naked body…

Tur’s mind went completely blank. The images dissolved as soon as they appeared, leaving nothing but a dull void.

_Ai, naeg! _What was this?

With a growl of frustration, he threw the covers back, and went to get some water from his parents’ kitchen.

After filling his glass, he turned and leaned against the counter and sipped, and tried again. Evvy’s smile, her laugh, the jewel that graced her beautiful neck, alongside the chain holding her mother’s ring. He pictured the delight on her face when Lord Thranduil returned the jewelry they had found in the tunnels and the shy pride in her eyes as he complimented her bravery and ingenuity. Evvy’s hands moved with grace; even more so when she became animated.

And her eyes… Tur loved how they glittered in the candlelight like beacons, inviting him to come and stay forever in their warm depths where he would always be loved, always be safe.

Turamarth closed his eyes, and after taking a deep breath, thought about their joining. A bed, a silken nightgown falling from the satiny skin of her shoulders, her breasts—

And nothing. Again.

Cursing louder than he meant to, he turned and slammed the glass on the counter and buried his face in his hands.

He returned to his room and quickly dressed.

“Tur? What is it?” The Wizard tied his robe as he opened his door to admit him.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Mithrandir, but I…” he swallowed. “There will be no other chance, as your caravan will be leaving early in the morning, and I want to apologize for my behavior at our last meeting.”

“Have a seat, _Mellon,” _the Wizard indicated one of the chairs by the fireplace. “We both know you didn’t come here in the middle of the night for that. But to put your mind at ease, the blame was mine. Haldir’s wine does not have the same effect on me, and I should have known you weren’t ready for it in your weakened condition.” Mithrandir tilted his head and his blue eyes studied him under his heavy grey brows. “How much do you remember of our conversation?”

“Not all of it,” he said, staring into the fire. “Daeron made sure I knew everything, but…”

“But alone in the dark, it’s not so easy to have faith, is it?”

He could only nod.

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

“I...” his upper body heaved in a sigh. “To put it simply, I want Evvy. More than anything. I imagine what it would be like to share a home, to see her across the table in the mornings, what our children might be like. I ache for that. But I also want a proper marriage, to…_be _with her, to have a true passion between us, but it is as if my mind _stops, _whenever I think of that.”

“I see,” the Wizard poured some water into the teapot, spooned in some leaves, and waved his hand over it, murmuring a spell. Seconds later, he was handing a cup of the spicy brew to him. “Drink that. It will help.”

“It smells wonderful,” he inhaled deeply. Will it…solve my problem?”

Mithrandir chuckled. “Only as far as tea and sympathy can, child. But any comfort is a good thing. He poured himself a cup and returned to his chair, crossing his legs. “Now, let’s think about this. Can you tell me what exactly Celebrian did that brought you relief? Describe it to me, if you would.”

“I was…reliving the vision I was cursed with; again and again and again, until I wanted to die, anything to make it stop! I tried to die, in fact: I pulled out my knife and just before I could plunge it into my heart, everything froze.” 3

“Do you want to tell me the nature of this curse?”

“It is difficult.”

“Turamarth, the fact that it was Celebrian who left you that jewel, and it was she who came to save you tells me the general nature of your affliction. I understand why you can barely speak of it, but have you considered that bringing it out in the open will diminish its power over you? I’m not saying to reveal this to everyone, but by keeping all this close, you might be giving Pallando – who is dead and gone – a hold over you, still?”

A sudden chill swept down his body, and he opened his mouth to say the words, but nothing came out.

There was pity in the Wizard’s eyes. “All right; if you cannot speak of that, at least tell me what Celebrian did.”

“She banished the Black.”

“And can you describe it?”

“I had seen it before, when the body of the _thrall_ Jarod was burned in the woods; a thick dark cloud made up of tiny, buzzing… I do not want to say insects; these particles had no real shape, but when they gathered in a tight group, the air throbbed with a dark energy...” Tur winced at the memory. “The Lady Celebrian shielded me from its horrors, waved her arms and dissolved it.” His cheeks were hot, as he stared down into the brew in his cup. “She was fearless, while I was nothing but a huddled, cowardly mess.”

“You are ashamed of this?”

_“Everything_ about this fills me with shame.”

“Therein lies your problem, Tur. Have you considered that Celebrian suffered just as badly as you when she was injured? Do you doubt that she, too was cursed?”

“By Pallando?”

“It’s possible. The Orcs that abused her were sent from Dol Guldur. My point is that she only seemed fearless because she felt no pain from _your_ wounds. You are a protector by nature. Tell me: do _you_ tremble at another’s enemy? Or do you boldly step between them and whatever danger they face? Why is it so remarkable that someone does the same for you?”

“I see your point,” he admitted ruefully. 

“So, face your fears, and tell me.”

“I am afraid to.”

“What do you fear?”

“I…” he closed his eyes. “I fear the loss of your good opinion of me, if you knew what happened, what Pallando made me desire.”

Understanding swept over the Wizard’s face. “Will it help if we strike a bargain?”

“What sort of bargain?”

“First, you will tell me everything that happened when you were struck down into the Black. Tell me what no one in Middle Earth knows.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I will tell you something personal that no one in Middle Earth knows, besides Galadriel and Glorfindel.”

He was stunned. “Wh… why,” he asked stupidly, “would they know?”

“They knew me as Olórin in Valinor,” the Wizard lifted one shoulder slightly. “But I will tell you more than even _they_ know.”

Tur was incredulous. “You would trust me with such a secret?”

“Only if you trust _me.” _He held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

The Elf reached over and clasped his wrist, as he nodded.

“What happened to you, Tur? Don’t give general descriptions, but bring everything out from the shadows; let the light shine on it.”

So, Turamarth, did. haltingly at first, awkwardly stumbling over his words but gave Mithrandir a thorough account, much more than he could even tell Rhian or Daeron. 

He told him _everything,_ with each sentence out of his mouth, weight he didn’t know was there slid away and lightened his _fëa._

“How do you feel?”

“Embarrassed, at speaking of something so private,” he answered honestly. “I struggle to believe this is not my fault. I suppose I always will.”

“The awkwardness is just your personality, that is nothing to worry over,” Mithrandir waved his hand dismissively. “As to your internal struggle, you will eventually triumph.”

“How can you be sure of this?”

“Since you awoke in the Healing Hall, have you had any nightmares?”

His head shook. “None.”

“Whereas before, you suffered them on a regular basis, sometimes even while awake.”

“How did you know?” He sat up straight.

“I could say it’s magic,” the Wizard quirked an eyebrow, “but I asked Daeron right after you became inebriated.” After drinking the last of his tea, the Wizard set his cup in the table and leaned forward. “But I offer further proof that you are recovering.”

“What is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Before this, you couldn’t bear to consider a physical relationship at all, or you’d be stricken with those memories. Now, besides… feeling frustrated, are you tormented?”

“Well,” his mouth pursed to one side, “no; there is a blank.”

“A void, where those painful memories _used to be?”_

“Yes,” he murmured, and a slow smile crept across his face. “Yes!”

“Isn’t that progress?” Mithrandir leaned back with a knowing smile. “It’s not a question of _if, _but _when. _Think on this, child: Celebrian, and the Valar wouldn’t have brought you through all this only to abandon you, now. And before you ask how I know _that,”_ his cornflower blue eyes fell to the opening of Turamarth’s tunic, “tell me what happened while Pallando’s ring was being destroyed?”

“Another cloud appeared, and we sang. Everyone saw it.”

“Not that! Think: what appeared in the sky that evening?”

“Wh…” he scowled in concentration, until it hit him, and his eyes widened. “The sun and the moon— “

“Appeared together in the sky! Admittedly that’s not an uncommon occurrence, but it wasn’t scheduled to happen that night, didn’t you know that?” At Tur’s blank stare, Mithrandir sighed. “Well, you were still weak, and newly reconciled with Evranin, so I suppose it couldn’t be helped. Surely you remember my words about the Sun and the Moon and how you are meant to be?”

“I do remember that, now.” The Elf rubbed his forehead sheepishly. “I feel foolish for doubting you.”

“Nonsense; like I said, sometimes it’s hard to have faith when you’re alone in the dark. But never forget the miracles that have brought you thus far.” He gave Turamarth an encouraging smile. “I’m glad you came to see me.”

“In the middle of the night? I was half-afraid you would turn me into a rug or something,” he grimaced. “But I could not just lie there. The harder I tried to think about something else, the more agitated I became.” He met the Wizard’s friendly gaze. “You are kind to help me.”

“What can I say?” Mithrandir laughed and spread his hands wide. “I love love!”

“You certainly do,” Tur shook his head with a wide smile. “Lord Galion has never been happier, thanks to you." he paused, then said, "Might I ask you something personal, Mithrandir?”

“You can always _ask.”_

“Does your kind take wives or husbands? I mean… even the Valar marry amongst themselves. It seems only right that someone like you should know that same happiness.”

“That could be construed as inappropriate” Mithrandir’s eyes narrowed. “Yet your instincts do you credit. As a matter of fact, the answer to your question is my part of the bargain. I must ask you again: never reveal what I tell you, not even to your King, though I know your loyalty to him is paramount.”

“I am not sure I can break my oath to my King, Mithrandir; not even for you.”

“Oh, Thranduil will never know enough to ask, and that’s better for him, anyway. I am compelled to tell you of this because I think the Valar wishes it, though for what reason I know not. And, if I am honest, I feel the need to commiserate with someone who understands. Like you, I need to bring some things into the light.” 

“Whenever you feel ready.” Tur put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together expectantly.

“I was sent, along with the other Istari nearly two thousand years ago to help fight Sauron. This is no secret, but what is not known is that I volunteered for this task because I knew that if we did not, this evil servant of Morgoth – whose name was once Mairon - would eventually return to Aman, and _that_ I must prevent!”

“That is no surprise,” the Elf’s brows drew together, and shook his head. “Everyone knows this, as well.”

Ignoring his comment, Mithrandir continued. “Queen Varda had a servant, a Maia named Ilmarë, who became the object of Mairon’s affections, though she did not return his feelings. She sent back his gifts unopened, his letters unread, and spurned his advances.”

“Did she know of his true nature?”

“No one did. Perhaps once there was goodness in him, but I believe it was his jealousy over Ilmarë that made him easy prey to Morgoth’s machinations. Having said that, let me be clear: Mairon – or Sauron, as we now know him – was no victim; he chose his _own_ actions, his own path; he alone bears the blame for his actions. However, I was involved in his original injury.”

Tur gasped. “You loved Ilmarë!”

“I did. I still do, in fact. She loved me, as well. But when Sauron discovered us, he persuaded Morgoth to use his power to separate us.”

“But you say this in the past tense, yes? Did Morgoth destroy her?”

“He did much worse. He took Ilmarë from me by casting a spell that erased most of her memory. She knows almost nothing of her life before, and certainly there is nothing of us; I am but a stranger to her now.” Mithrandir’s voice grew low and soft, as he studied his fingers. “So, I was doomed to love her with little hope, not unlike you at one point.”

_“Ai, Amarth faeg; neithan de…”_ Turamarth murmured as he absorbed all this. “I am truly sorry; that is unspeakable.”

“Yes, it is. Queen Varda was as heartbroken as I, but despite all her powers, she could not lift this spell. She is, at times, as a small child, needing to be taught many things, anew.”

“I suppose Sauron was eager to be the one to teach her those things?”

“Very astute of you, _Mellon_. That was his plan: to rewrite her history to suit him.”

“But the Evil One is now chained and powerless! Why did that not release the curse?”

The Wizard huffed and closed his eyes. “Mairon foresaw that Morgoth’s reign of terror would come to an end. He used his powers of persuasion to convince his master to bind the spell to himself and Ilmarë.” He swallowed. “As long as Sauron lives, my One, my Daughter of the Stars, remains his captive.”

_“Ai, gorgor…” _Tur shuddered at the vision of her huddled in the Tower of Barad-dûr, “She is his prisoner? Has he turned her into his _Thrall_ as well?”

“Praise _Eru_, no.” Mithrandir held up his hand. “As soon as the Queen understood the nature of her handmaiden’s affliction, she asked Oromë and Tulkas to take her in secret to Lord Námo. Only the Lord of Mandos and _Eru_ himself knows of her location. I am comforted to know she is safe and receiving the best of care. 

“So,” Mithrandir inclined his head with questioning eyes, “do you think less of me, now that you know I am not fighting this evil for Middle Earth’s sake alone? Now that you know there’s a selfish reason for desiring victory?” 

“Not at all,” Tur was earnest. “If anything, it makes me admire you all the more! Knowing that you are not above the inner workings of the hearts of the Eldar and the Edain makes your every action even more meaningful, Mithrandir. Please, never be ashamed of your motives, for is not love the strongest force in all of Arda? You deserve to know its joys as much as everyone else!”

“So, you think our bargain was a fair one?” Amusement glinted in the Wizard’s eyes, but there was also relief. 

“I do. It was excruciating, but somehow things... take up less space.”

“Excellent! For my part, your words are safe with me.”

“And yours are with me,” Turamarth promised. “I can understand why you hesitate to share this with Lord Thranduil; if Sauron were to make inquiries, my King would be one of the first he would suspect.”

“It is a burden he shouldn’t have to bear. It’s a comfort to have a confidant, and who would suspect a Captain in the Guardians?” Mithrandir’s eyes twinkled.

“You flatter me,” Tur laughed, “but I am not a Captain.”

“Not yet, but you will be. And once I get you and Evvy married off, I’ll need to start thinking of the next person on my list.”

Tur’s fingers flew to his mouth to stifle a laugh. “You already have another victim in mind?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Who is it?”

The Wizard’s eyes danced merrily. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Tur was puzzled for just a few seconds, then his jaw dropped in recognition and he threw back his head and laughed.

**Early Morning; 24th of December 2944 T.A.**

Turamarth stood next to Rúmil by the Main Doors, while the last-minute preparations were being made. 

“You will write, yes?”

“As often as I can,” the Warden embraced him. “I am happy we are friends once again, Tur. The year with you was one of the best of my life. I hope we will meet again soon.”

“As do I, _Mellon_ _nîn_.” Tur patted his back. “Is it not time you found an _Elleth_ of your very own?”

“Who says I have not?” Rúmil winked. 

_“Ae,”_ he gasped. _“Ma hen?”_

“You will see,” the Warden smirked. "If you come to Lothlorien, you might meet her."

“I appreciate your invitation,” Turamarth's breath caught, “but I am not sure I can do that."

"Perhaps not now, but give yourself time. It will mean the world to Evranin if you could find a way to enjoy the Golden Wood." Rumil smiled as he gestured to Rhian, who was holding her unhappy child. “I think your nephew wants to come along.”

“He likes adventure,” Turamarth said proudly. “Alas; I think our Forest is a bit too dark for him just yet.” He clasped the Warden's wrist and asked quietly. “Keep her safe, yes?”

“You know I will, Tur.”

“Thank you.” And with a last smile he turned to join Daeron and Orlin, who were deep in conversation about his _Gwador’s _books and notes.

“…I would be honored to help you with this task,” Orlin was saying.

“I will make sure you and Evvy are listed as co-authors.”

“That is most kind of you.” Orlin bowed. “Maybe I will use the notoriety to impress the _Ellyth_, yes?” he met the Guardian’s eyes with a smile. “How are you, Tur?”

“I am well. Mithrandir will accompany you to Lothlórien?”

“The Lord and Lady are always glad of his company.”

“As am I,” he glanced around. “Your father and sister are not here yet? I left her room at the Healing Hall soon after he arrived to fetch her.”

“I am not sure what delays them… Ah,” he nodded. “They are with the King and his family,” “That is well; we cannot delay.”

Turamarth turned to meet Evvy’s eyes. Praise the stars they had said their goodbyes back in her room, because words failed him. His legs took him of their own accord to her, and she threw herself in his arms. All he could do was bury his face in her hair, and beg the Valar to give him the strength to let her go. 

“I am sorry to interrupt, you two,” Rhian said softly, “but they’re all in the wagon waiting for you, Evvy.” She kissed the _Elleth_’s cheek. “You’ll hear from us all the time, love. We love you.” Then she stepped away at a discreet distance.

Tur still couldn’t speak. He swallowed down the painful lump in his throat as he walked her to the wagon, lifted her up and placed her in the cushions. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but her lips trembled in a brave smile. 

Turamarth climbed atop the wheel next to her and tucked the warm furs around her, then took her beautiful face in his hands. When he slowly leaned down to kiss her brow, he scrunched his eyes tight sending her _fëa_ everything in his heart. _It will be all right, Erbain nîn._ _I love you. _

Evvy rested her hands on his wrists and murmured. “I love you, too.”

He did not feel Rhian’s arm around him as the wagons rolled out of sight, nor did he notice Daeron’s hand on his shoulder.

But they were _there,_ and he was grateful.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ai, Amarth faeg; neithan de… – _O evil fate; you were wronged…

_De i mhelethril e-guil nîn,_ _Erbain nîn _– You are the love of my life (female), My Fair One.

_Erbain nîn – _My Fair One

_Ma hen? – _Who is she?

_Muin nin_ – My dear

_Naur nîn _– My Sun

**NOTES:**

[1] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 28: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/45143632>

[2] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 24: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53959351>

[3] _Broken Wings, _Ch. 25: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/54219163>


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the caravan leaves for the Golden Wood, it's time Thranduil got some answers from Galion.
> 
> We’ve got a spring wedding, then a unexpected letter arrives for the King of Dale.
> 
> And **ahem** we have "The Elf Thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience during this difficult time. This quarantine is getting harder and harder, but we are almost there, folks. I, for one, am not willing to take chances by pushing for things to reopen any sooner than it is truly safe, though my sympathies certainly go to those with struggling small businesses.
> 
> There is no easy answer to all this, but to hang on to our sense of responsibility and love for ourselves and those around us.

_You ask me if there'll come a time_

_When I grow tired of you_

_Never my love_

_Never my love_

_You wonder if this heart of mine_

_Will lose its desire for you_

_Never my love_

_Never my love_

_What makes you think love will end_

_When you know that my whole life depends_

_On you…”_

_ By** The Association ** _

**The Woodland Realm, 26th of December 2944 T.A.**

The day after the party left for the Woodland Realm, it was time for Thranduil to settle an issue that had been nagging at him for weeks. He had come to Galion’s apartment to speak to him privately among friends, but after a few moments, he just couldn’t keep the anger and hurt at bay.

“Had I not remembered that secret compartment in my father’s study, Evranin and those children would have surely died! How could you keep something like this from me for three thousand years?” Thranduil demanded. 1

“Because I did not know!” Galion yelled back. “Your father apparently never told anyone, aside from the Dwarves and a few of his Guardians! According to King Daín’s records – and that took weeks for Ori to find – the Dwarves were brought in secret to the entrance of the falls and worked from there! Every Elf who knew about it was sworn to secrecy.”

“Who were they?”

Galion handed him a copy translated into Tengwar and raised his voice to match his King’s. “As you can see, all perished at the Battle of Dagorlad, so there was no one left to tell anyone! Do you honestly believe I would keep something like that from you?”

The bedroom door opened just then, and Thranduil bristled at Rôgon, who was obviously coming to his husband’s rescue.

“Is everything all right in here?” the Blacksmith stuck his head in.

“All is well, _Meleth nîn. _If you could give us some privacy?”

“If you are sure?”

“I am.” Galion gave him a confident smile. “Thank you.”

When Rôg left the apartment and shut the door behind him, Galion met his eyes. “Do not be angry, Thranduil.”

“I am not in the habit if answering to anyone when I am communicating with my Aide!” The Elvenking’s fists clenched with fury and not a little embarrassment.

Galion snapped right back. “If you did not want any interference when speaking to me as _your Aide,_ then we should have had this conversation in your study and not in my private apartment!” 

Thranduil’s face flamed, and his gaze dropped. 

_“A Ionnauth_…” Galion paused and sighed deeply. “Sit down, Thranduil.”

The Elvenking grudgingly took a seat on the couch next to him, and rand his hand through his hair. “You are right, of course. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. You did not come here as a King," he said. "You came as a son who feels hurt and betrayed by his father.”

Thranduil’s nodded slightly. “I suppose I am. I do not understand.”

“Neither do I. If it helps, I am furious with Oropher for not taking me in to his confidence.”

“Why did he not trust us?”

“I wonder if it _was_ a matter of trust, Thranduil. According to Daín’s records, these tunnels were dug just before we all left for the War in the South. I have to believe that he did that in case Sauron was victorious and wanted to invade the Woodland Realm.”

“He did anyway.” Thranduil reminded him bitterly. “He should have told us, at least before Dagorlad.”

“_Ai,_ what a terrible day that was! But keep in mind that Oropher had no idea of King Amdir’s treachery; had the Galadhrim performed as expected, there is little doubt he would have survived.2 Perhaps he intended to tell us, but he was cut down before he had a chance.”

“It haunts me to think what could have happened,” Thranduil rubbed small circles into his forehead. ”Evranin and the children would never have been found; how would their families live with that? How could _I have lived with that?“_

“I agree. In this your father made a grave mistake, but may have kept this secret thinking to protect you, in case you were captured and interrogated.” Galion’s face softened, as _Lorda_ jumped into his lap and began to purr. He stroked the cat’s back and scratched behind his ears “Even so, I have come to believe that was not Oropher’s true reason.”

“What was it, then?”

“Love, Thranduil.” I think Oropher spared you, for the same reason you demanded Feren give you daily reports on Legolas when he first started to go out on patrol? 3 When it comes to those we love, are we not all guilty of such foolishness?”

He relaxed a little. “This is true,” he smiled wryly. “I shudder to think what could have happened had those tunnels been discovered while Sauron was in Dol Guldur. Saeros could have sought out Pallando and...”

“But he did not, at least not before Pallando was killed,” he rubbed Thranduil’s back. “So, let us be grateful. And,” he grinned, “you can be sure Oropher will get a sharp kick in the _Nulav_ when I see him next.”

The Elvenking chuckled softly. “You will have to get in line. That is, if your husband lets me live. He’s quite protective of you.”

“You leave Rôg to me,” Galion smirked proudly. "If I am honest, I rather enjoy being thought of as a 'delicate flower.'"

Thranduil gave him a rueful grin as he shook his head. "If only he knew."

*************** 

**City of Dale, 27th of April 2945 T.A.**

Had it really been a year since they had gathered for Daeron’s and Rhian’s wedding? Yet here they were sitting in the same, chairs in same large Hall of Garon’s Castle, awaiting the entrance of another bride and groom.

The door to the anteroom opened. Evan, along with Alun, Treasure Keeper of Dale, along with another tall, dark-haired young man, carrying a white cord. The groom came stand before King Bard next to his boss, and tried not to fidget, as they waited for the bride to enter.

An elbow poked him in the ribs. “He’s such a handsome young lad, isn’t he?” Hilda grinned proudly. “I’m glad _someone_ from his family showed up.”

“His nephew looks to be the same age as Evan,” Thranduil noted.

“He’s only a year younger,” Percy leaned forward spoke over his wife. “Evan was a late surprise for his parents. I’m told his sisters weren’t up to the trip, but from what I hear at the pub, the lad thinks he might want to stay.”

“What is his name?”

“Evan, like his Uncle, but the boy goes by their middle name, Jack.”

“Shhh!” Hilda warned, as the doors behind them opened to admit the bridal party.

A collective _“Aww”_ rose from the guests as the parade of children, ages eight through ten entered. Every single one of Miss Eryn’s pupils had been asked to participate in the ceremony and they were marching two by two up the aisle. The boys looked solemn and proud, as they sported hand-made paper hats, and their small, wooden practice swords at their belts.

“Oh, isn’t that cute?” Hilda’s hands flew to her mouth as they watched the procession.

“Dale’s future army,” Thranduil smiled.

The little girls that followed were cute in their dresses with handmade flower garlands in their hair. Tilda was among them, and she politely waved at the crowd, as she searched for her family. Thranduil met her eyes and gave her wink, as the children stood in a semi-circle around the dais, the boys standing by Evan, and the girls serving as the bride’s attendants.

The music changed and everyone stood as Eryn entered, looking lovely in her light blue dress, shimmering with flakes of mica. Her hair was upswept and adorned with small white flowers, and her eyes were shining as she leaned on her dear Uncle Rowen’s remaining arm. The man had lost an arm and an eye in the Battle of the Five Armies, and had been grateful to survive, though sadly, Eryn’s father had not. Rowen was deeply touched to be asked to serve in his brother’s absence, and sported a brand new outfit (complete with a new eyepatch) for the occasion. 

A muscle in Evan’s jaw clenched as he blinked back tears, then suddenly grew pale. The Elvenking’s heart swelled with love and pride at his husband, who leaned down to whisper to Evan, no doubt reminding him to keep breathing and unlock his knees.

The groom’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath and the color returned to his cheeks. Ah. Much better. It wouldn’t do to carry the groom out of the proceedings in a dead faint. In the short time since Lord Alun’s Aide had been working and living in Dale, he’d gained a reputation for his honesty and amiability. The Elvenking was certain more than a few maids had sighed after him, and were sad to see him out of circulation. He was equally sure there were a few young men who would have loved the chance to court the lovely bride. 

> After the Long Winter, Evan had come to Dale from East Bight to seek his fortune, and fit into the new Kingdom nicely. Everyone who knew him liked his good looks and easy smile, and those who worked with him admired his dedication to detail and his strong work ethic. For a time, he dated Lady Rhian, but is was soon determined they were better as friends. As a matter of fact, it was Rhian who helped get the couple together!
> 
> But as much as Lady Hilda had pestered Evan to “quit dragging his feet and marry her already,” 4 he knew that love was not enough, and was determined to wait until he had saved enough money to buy a proper house, big enough for as many children as they could want, to provide the kind of life Eryn deserved.
> 
> Last year, Bard met with them privately to offer him a personal loan, but both Eryn and Evan were adamant. Neither wanted to enter their union under a cloud of debt, and they could be patient.
> 
> Hilda, on the other hand was not. The moment the sale of the house went through, she got together with Eryn’s mother and Mistress Bronwyn, Head of Schools, along with all the parents of her students and surprised them with a huge housewarming party, stuffing their cupboards with more than enough linens, pillows dishes, cutlery and pans than anyone could wish for.
> 
> There was also a plethora of things for the “nursery,” including a wicker cradle, knitted baby clothes, blankets, nappies and anything else a child could ever want, whenever he or she was willing to come along.

Eryn had reached the dais, was kissed by her Uncle who then took his place next to his sister-in-law, and the ceremony began. Thranduil only half-listened to Bard’s opening remarks, as his gaze swept the room. 

Rhian and Darryn were seated with Ben – Hannah and Daeron had been called away at the last minute to deliver a baby. Did she have any regrets at letting Evan go? Did she wonder what might have been? No; Rhian was only beaming with happiness for her friend and former companion. Over the last two years, she and Eryn had become genuine friends, and the two couples shared dinner occasionally.

Turamarth and Ruvyn were on the dais with Bard, standing behind the King of Dale and looking resplendent in full ceremonial armor. His Guardian had gone back to work full-time just a few weeks after the tragedies of last December and the occupation had done him good. No trace of the dull grey that had lingered in the young Lieutenants eyes after his ordeal nearly a year ago, yet.... Was as it just his imagination, or did he notice a hint of apprehension still? 

_No,_ the Elvenking shook himself out of that thought. Most likely, Tur was wistful, wishing it were his own wedding to Evranin. Nothing could remedy that situation but time. 

Galion was seated next to Rôgon, their fingers intwined happily. Knowing his _Adar-nauth, _the Aide was like every other couple in this room, happy for the new couple, and reminiscing about their own private wedding. And why not? Of course, it came as a complete shock – particularly the manner in which he discovered his lifelong friend had married 5 \- but Hilda had been right to push Thranduil to pull himself together and, to use her own, succinct words, _“Get over it!”_

She had been right, as she was with most things. This new side of Galion, the Elf who delighted in his days, who enjoyed the feel of Rôgon’s hand on the small of his back as they walked together, who doted on that ridiculous cat of his and who reveled in quiet evenings with his husband, was a revelation to Thranduil. But was it, really? Galion possessed the same aura of _completeness,_ in the same way as Bard made him feel whole, as his father Oropher shared with his mother. To his shame, he had only understood Galion’s loneliness after Rôgon made his _fëa_ whole. 

Legolas was absent today, busy at the Palace and, from the way he groaned about it, gaining an appreciation for the tedious grind of running a Kingdom. Thranduil smothered a private laugh. _No one _could appreciate that (with the possible exception of Galion), but Legolas gritted his teeth and got on with it. With each monthly visit to the Palace, Galion and Thranduil could see improvement and it made him glad.

Evan and Eryn were exchanging rings, now. Alun pulled a lovely gold band, decorated with small diamonds from his pocket and handed it to Bard, and Eryn’s uncle did the same. The King of Dale blessed the rings, offering a prayer that their bond, like these rings have no end. The grooms voice shook has he placed it on his bride’s finger, vowing to love and honor, but Eryn was sure and smiling as she looked into Evan’s eyes and vowed the same.

Of the two, Thranduil decided, she would be the calming influence, and smooth over Evan’s impetuous nature. It was no surprise; Eryn was a natural with some of the young minds of Dale, his own _Tithen pen_ included. Tilda worshipped her teacher, and when Mistress Bronwyn had decided that the teachers would remain with the students throughout their early education it was a relief; these children needed continuity after all the turmoil in the last four-and-a-half years. Many of these little ones in Tilda’s class had lost family members in the Fires and the Battle; too many had lost one or both parents. Miss – now Mistress – Eryn had a natural compassion and talent for motivating her pupils to move past their heartaches and focus on the things they could control. It was a quality Thranduil greatly admired, for he saw the same in his Bard with their own children.

> _“At this time,” Bard announced from the dais, “Eryn’s pupils, with the help of Mistress Bronwyn have prepared surprise for their teacher and her new husband.”_

Thranduil knew of this, of course. Tilda had asked Auntie Hil if they could use one of the receiving rooms at the Castle to practice in secret after Evan left for home, and by the time the wedding day arrived, he knew the charming tune and the words by heart. 

The children took their Places, and at Bronwyn’s direction began to sing a charming love song that must have been a popular tradition among the Dale folk, from the knowing nods and glances among the guests.

Did Bard and his wife sing this at their own wedding? Thranduil glanced up at his Bowman, who was composed, but the hard bob of this throat told him it had. To his right, Hilda and Percy held hands, as they mouthed the words to each other, and when the last note was song, Percy leaned down and kissed his wife’s temple. 

Bard was asking for the bridal couple’s hands to be tied now. Eryn’s mother, a lovely woman in her late-forties stepped forward and wrapped a yellow cord around their right hands. Evan Jr., or “Jack” did the same, with the same white cord used in every member of their family. 

Bard placed his hands atop their joined ones, and recited the Blessing. Then, with a grin, he said,

> _“I would now like to present my gift to the Bride and Groom. Evan, would you and your lovely bride please kneel before me?”_

From somewhere on the dais, Turamarth and Ruvyn produced two large red cushions, and placed them at the King’s feet.

> _Evan glanced at Alun, wide-eyed. “You knew about this?”_
> 
> _“I did,” the Treasure-Keeper said firmly. “Now let me help you kneel before you fall flat on your face and take your poor wife with you.” _

This brought a general chorus of laughter from the crowd, as Alun and Eryn, still bound together were helped to their knees. Bard pulled his sword from its scabbard, carefully touched both of Evan’s shoulders with it, and said,

> _“Evan of Dale, son of Niclas of East Bight, since the day you arrived in my Kingdom, you have shared in our vision and hopes for New Dale, by your dedication, your integrity and your genuine concern for our people. It is my honor to announce that you have been given a full seat on the Council of Dale as a trusted advisor to its King. From this day forward, you will be known as Lord Evan, and will be accorded the rights and privileges thereof. And,” Bard leaned down and said in a stage whisper, “this also means you have been given a raise, which should help with that huge family you’ve been bragging to us about!”_
> 
> _Eryn raised her left hand to her mouth and giggled.   
_
> 
> _Evan’s jaw dropped. “You knew about his, too? Did everybody know about this but me?”_
> 
> _“Shush,” the King of Dale commanded, trying his best to look imperious. “Now, let’s get you two back on your feet so you can kiss the bride!” Once the two of them were standing, Bard lifted his head and announced. “I am honored to present, for the very first time, Lord Evan and Lady Eryn of Dale!”_

Evan caressed his wife’s cheek, and smiled into her lovely face. When his mouth reached hers, a tear fell from his eye, but everyone pretended not to notice.

***************

“You did very well today, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil said as they entered their bedchamber that night.

“I like marrying people; it’s one of the best perks of being King.” Bard stretched his arms over his head with a yawn, working the kinks out of his back. “It was quite a party, though. Stars, I’m pooped.”

Warm lean arms encircled him from the back. “I enjoyed dancing with you,” the Elvenking nuzzled his neck. 

“Only because I had an excellent partner,” Bard leaned his head back to rest against his Elf. 

“You are a wonderful dancer!” Thranduil frowned. 

“No, I’m not,” Bard snorted. “But you’re such a strong lead, everybody thought I knew what I was doing.”

“Nonsense,” teeth nipped at his shoulder. “Surely you danced in Laketown.”

“Rarely. No one could afford to have such big weddings, and since we came to Dale, I’ve been too busy to learn more than a few of the dances.” He brought Thranduil’s hands to his lips and kissed it. “Still, you kept me from tripping, and that’s all that counts. The kids were sweet, weren’t they?”

“I especially liked the song,” Thranduil nudged them over to the bed and helped him shed his clothes. “I wondered…”

“What, love?”

“Did you sing that at your wedding with Mattie?”

He shook his head. “We didn’t have an elaborate wedding; just a short ceremony and a breakfast at my Da’s house. But she sang it all the time…” he said quietly.

“Bard?”

He glanced over and met his Elf’s questioning eyes. “No, love. I don’t mind remembering it. And for the record, I loved the wedding you and I had, song or no song.” He got in bed and pulled back the covers and opened his arms.

Thranduil shed the last of his clothing and came to him, saying. “I remember every word that was said at our wedding.” 

Bard gathered him to him kissed the top of his head. “I don’t remember that at all. All I could see was your face, thinking ‘how could this beautiful creature want me?’ I must have said all the right stuff, because here we are.”

“Here we are,” Thranduil whispered. _“Lasto iâl Thranduil Ororpherion ah Bard Brandion, ah elio din Eru.”_

“What was that?”

“Part of the Mithrandir’s blessing as we exchanged rings.”

Bard reached up and gently brushed his knuckles against Thranduil’s cheek. _“’May Varda, Queen of the Stars hear Thranduil Oropherion’s and Bard Brandion’s calls, and may Eru the Father of All bless them.’”_

Thranduil lifted his head in delighted surprise. “Your Sindarin improves, _Meleth nîn!”_

“Thank you, but I remember that line from when we married Daeron and Rhian. To be honest, I think I’ve picked up a lot from hanging around with so many of you Elves. It’s bound to happen. Maybe someday I’ll be fluent like our Sea Monsters.”

“I hate to tell you this, _Meleth nîn_, but Sindarin is not the only language you must learn.”

“Well, I do know enough Quenya to order the animals around,” his mouth lifted into a lop-sided grin. At his Elf’s steady gaze, he rolled his eyes and groaned. “You mean that, too?”

“It is spoken a great deal in Valinor. If you want to, as you say, ‘fit in,’ you must. But it is of no concern now; I planned to teach you after we move to my Palace permanently.”

“Praise the Stars for that.” Bard’s head fell back onto pillow with relief. 

_“May Manwe Lord of Wind watch over Thranduil and Bard, and may Eru the Father of All bless them.” _Thranduil’s hand lightly tickled the hair on his chest, then took a nipple in his mouth and began to suckle. 

Bard arched his back with a soft moan. “And they lived happily ever after…”

“That is not a wedding vow, _Meleth nîn_,” the Elf murmured as his hands traveled downward in small circles until soft fingers encircled his increasingly interested cock.

“No, but my life with you feels like a fairy tale, sometimes.” Bard pulled Thranduil on top of him. “There’s excitement and adventure, but always a happy ending.”

“Always,” the Elvenking leaned down to kiss him, softly at first, then harder as their ardor rose.

Bard reached between them and wiped the slick droplet on Thranduil’s cock and used it to tease its underside. The Elf’s hair waved gracefully through the air as he threw his head back. “A, ma!” he gasped, and ground down into Bard’s hand. 

Bard’s legs parted to allow his Elf to nest between them. They intwined their fingers and held their heavy throbbing members together, hips thrusting against each other in the sweet friction that took his breath away.

“Gods, I love you so much, Thranduil,” he moaned as their movements became urgent. “I can’t believe how much I want you, sometimes. It’s always so fucking good.”

_“De i mhelethron nîn, Bard…” _his Elf panted, his jaw slack. “_Gellon n’i iuithog i lebir gîn!”_ He opened his icy blue eyes and held Bard’s gaze as they moved together. 

It was wonderful to know exactly how to please Thranduil, knowing what touches, what words drive him wild. And it was one of his greatest joys that his beloved Elf had dedicated himself to learning everything that Bard needed, never hesitating, always wanting to find out more.

And like every other time together, Thranduil didn’t disappoint. He moved his fingers just _so,_ and raised up to hover over Bard, knowing how much he liked to be surrounded with the silky white curtain of his hair, making everything else disappear until this _magic_ that was theirs and theirs alone was all Bard knew.

Thranduil pressed their foreheads together, squeezed just that much more, and they moaned into each other’s mouths as they came.

Finally, after they re-entered the world, and cleaned themselves up, the Elf returned to Bard’s arms.

“I love everything we do.” Bard lazily ran his fingers through his Elf’s hair.

“I do, too. It is always a marvel to me. I love you, Bard.”

“I love you, too.

**City of Dale, 30th of April 2945 T.A.**

Percy entered Bard’s office with a letter in his hand. “You aren’t going to believe who _this_ is from,” he said with a smile.

“From Lothlorien?”

“We’ve got a stack from them, but this was with them.”

“From Rivendell?”

“Nope; think further South.”

“Will I like it?”

“I think so.” He handed it over.

Bard scanned the paper as a slow smile grew on his face. “We should get Thranduil and Galion here to listen.”

“I’ll be back,” the Steward of Dale disappeared.

“What is it _Meleth?”_ Thranduil’s brow had that vertical line between his eyes. “Percy would say nothing.” He was followed by an equally concerned Galion.

“Oh, it’s nothing bad at all. I just thought this might brighten your day a bit. Can you two spare me a few minutes?”

“Of course,” the Elvenking sat down on one of the leather upholstered chairs, and indicated for Galion to join him. Percy remained standing, leaning against the side of the desk with his arms crossed.

Once they were assembled, Bard unfold the letter and began to read:

> _To His Majesty Bard I, King of Dale_
> 
> _It has been almost two years since you have heard from me, though I think of you and your family often. Things are busy in the North, and I am sure you have forgotten all about me, but I hope not, because the mercy you showed me changed my life and that of my entire family. _
> 
> _Ever since I arrived here in Gondor on the back of one of Gandalf’s Big Birds, I have done my best to help Lord Ecthelion and his father, Lord Turgon, Steward of Gondor, rid their lands of the plague that used to be The Boss’s empire._ 6_ I can tell you it’s been destroyed, as much as anything like that can be. _
> 
> _Lord Ecthelion has been very kind to me. He gave me a decent place to stay and a good job with enough salary that I can send most of it back to my family in Rohan. _7 _ _
> 
> _I write to my family back in the Wold often, and I have heard about your generosity toward my sisters after they lost so much in the Plague. If you have not received letters from them, it’s only because most of us there never learned how to read and write. But you can be sure they kneel by their beds at night and pray for the Good Kings of the North, who helped them when all hope was gone._
> 
> _As a matter of fact, two of my nieces and one of my nephews came to live with me last year, with their mother’s leave, of course. One of them, I am proud to say, works as a handmaid to Lord Ecthelion’s wife, and the Lady has begun to give all three of them a good education, just like she did for me. _
> 
> _I guess after Gandalf got rid of whoever was controlling Steward Turgon, he told the Lord and Lady about my help and they offered a reward. I wouldn’t accept money for that; it didn’t seem right at all. But that Wizard suggested I might like to learn to read and write, and it was true. I should tell you, though, that my hand is awful (that’s what my niece always says, anyway) so she is re-writing this so you can read it well enough._
> 
> _I like it here in Gondor. I was never much of a farmer, but I was a good cooper and carpenter, so that’s what I make my living at here in the White City. The weather is milder, and the air is good – when it’s blowing from the West, not the East, but everyone says it only started feeling bad a few years ago and they’re not worried._
> 
> _I asked Lord Ecthelion about that, and he didn’t say much. He does a lot of the work for his Da, who is almost 90 years old now. But everyone loves the Steward and from what I’ve seen, he’s earned it. _
> 
> _I just wanted to write to tell you how often I think of the good folk of Dale and the Lonely Mountain for giving this unworthy man another chance, and to tell about all the good that came of it. I hope your crops are good this year, and that your family is all in good health._
> 
> _I am and will forever remain,_
> 
> _Your devoted servant, _
> 
> _Bert, son of Franklyn (formerly of The Wold)_

Bard tossed the letter onto his desk. “I never thought to hear from him again.”

“He certainly has regained his self-worth,” Thranduil said with a proud smile. “You made sure his family wanted for nothing.”

“I promised him, didn’t I?” the Bowman shrugged. “It’s a small price to pay for getting our kids back. And I wasn’t the only one who sent them money,” he quirked an eyebrow at his elf. “You sent them seeds and plow horses.”

“How did you find out?” the Elvenking’s brows scrunched together.

“Orlin told me. He and Penlod go around to the villages once in a while to check up on them, and he recognized the brand on that large chestnut stallion.”

“Well,” Thranduil lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to show my appreciation. It was not just me: Celeborn sends his Elves to look after their fields and such until they can recover.”

“I’ve heard good things about Ecthelion,” Bard mused.

“Sounds like Bert has given him an earful about you,” Percy pursed his lips in a suppressed smile. “I’m sure Ecthelion thinks you’re seven feet tall and can make the sun rise and set whenever you want.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bard crumbled a piece of paper into a ball and threw it at him. “Still, I’m thinking of writing to invite him and his family to the North. Maybe we’ll end up having an exchange program like the Elves.”

“One must have an Army to exchange with, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil teased with a small smile. “But now would be an excellent time to have him come. Once he becomes Steward his life will not be his own. Perhaps he should receive this invitation from all three Kings.”

Bard leaned back in his chair and rested his finger against his lower lip. “Perhaps he should.”

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_A Ionnauth_… - O son of my heart…

_De i mhelethron nîn, Bard_ – You are my love, Bard

_Gellon n’i iuithog i lebir gîn _– I love it when you use your fingers!

_Nulav_ – Arse

**NOTES:**

[1]_Broken Wings_, Ch. 18: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/52298323>

[2] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 49: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/39024311>

[3] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 19: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/25886361>

[4] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 29: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/45344965>

[5] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 34: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/46200085>

[6] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 48: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/38866184>

[7] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 37: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37370825>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just checked and do you realize “What Makes a King,” the story that started all this, is about to reach TWENTY THOUSAND HITS? 
> 
> I am beyond amazed and profoundly grateful to everyone who has stuck through me through all this time.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for Vórima, Bowen’s mare to give birth to Fînlossen’s foal, and he's nervous. Thankfully, he has Daffyd and his friend Turamarth with him to help when things get rough.
> 
> Helping a new life enter this world can have a powerful affect on those who witness this miracle...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, my dear, faithful readers...
> 
> I have to tell you that though I tried my best to stay busy and focused during all this worry over the pandemic, weeks upon weeks of fear and the frightening and idiotic politics that ensued drained me to the point where I couldn't write. That's never happened to me, and now I understand the horrors of "Writer's Block." Before this, all I had to do was sit at my laptop, sink into this world and characters I had either borrowed or created and let them guide me through their story. It's a beautiful and exciting process.
> 
> But for the past weeks, my characters would show up, but they had nothing to say. They seemed to be just as silent and sad as I was. I know where this story is going to end up, and I know how I want it to get there, but when my fingers touched the keyboard, the words Just. Would. Not. Come.
> 
> Finally, after much writing, deleting and rewriting, I am able to present this chapter. I hope you will like it, and if not, please be kind. This is a trying time for everyone, and I love how supportive you all are to each other.
> 
> Love to you all. 🧡💛💚💙💜

* * *

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_It's not warm when she's away_

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_And she's always gone too long_

_Anytime she goes away…_

_ By** Bill Withers** _

**City of Dale, 1st of June 2945 T.A.**

Three years ago, Bowen’s mother died, leaving him and his younger siblings orphans, Daffyd and Anna had taken them into their care. At first, they all crowded into the apartment over the Livery on the edge of the City, where Daffyd and his son Powell kept several carriages, and draft horses for farm work and hauling. It was a tight fit, but after Ellyn passed away, Lord Bard had helped them move into a bigger house where he, his younger brother Maddox, and baby Owena would have a space to play. 1

Anna and Daffyd were kind, patient and affectionate, and soon the younger children adjusted to their new situation and started calling them “Mam” and “Da.” Bowen, however, had taken the deaths of his parents especially hard, and broke down completely. 2

The Kings were concerned, as was Daeron, but it was Turamarth took the boy under his wing, supported him through his grief and gently steered him away from his frantic worry over Maddie and Owena. When Bowen’s thoughts were a whirlwind and he could hardly even finish a thought, Turamarth was patient and helped him get through the basics of daily life, until the whispers in his head slowed down. It was Turamarth who took him to the forest and taught him to share his heart with the trees, to breathe their sweet air as his mind quieted down.

The Elf was his mentor and one of the greatest friends Bowen had ever had. 

When Tur bought him a beautiful roan mare named _Vórima_, it opened up a whole new world for Bowen. He hadn’t had the chance to learn to ride because of his mother’s illness, but now he understood fascination and devotion Bain and Rhys held for these exquisite animals. Turamarth helped him bond with _Vórima_, by getting up earlier on school days to feed and care for her himself, how to talk to her as he groomed her and cleaned her hooves until she knew every inflection of his voice. The Elf took him outside the city gates, sometimes with Bain and Rhys, sometimes not, and they rode for hours, as Bowen and _Vórima_ learned each other’s moods and signals. In time, _Vórima_ became just as good a friend to Bowen as Turamarth. 

Last spring, Tur suggested he breed the mare with Lord Bard’s stallion, _Fînlossen_. “It would be a good experience for you, _Mellon_. Training a young horse takes skill and patience, and I think it would be a good project.”

“But why can’t _Sandastan_ do it? Be the Da, I mean.”

“They are related,” Tur explained. “_Vórima_ and _Sandastan_ share the same sire.” 

“Okay, but do you think _Fînlossen_ is…”

“Worthy of her?” the Elf chuckled and tousled the boy’s hair. “That stallion used to be part of Lord Thranduil’s private stables; if anyone is good enough for her, it would be _Fînlossen.”_

_ _

And so, it was done and all year, Bowen watched his beloved horse carefully, as her belly grew larger. When Turamarth came home so ill, Ivran or Ruvyn stepped in and tried to answer the endless questions the boy had about this process.

It helped, and Bowen learned a great deal, but that didn’t stop his worry. 

And that was why, on this night, the boy was wringing his hands and trying not to panic.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t get Daeron?” Bowen asked as _Vórima_ paced in her stall.

“Daeron has very little experience with birthing a foal, _Mellon_ _nîn_.” Turamarth ran his hands over the swollen belly of the boy’s mare, following the strawberry roan around the box stall as she paced. Her udder was full and firm, and her body tensed and relaxed on a regular basis. 

“But he came before,” Bowen argued. “He told me it’s a boy.”

“A _colt,” _Tur corrected patiently. “Daeron’s specialty is people, and I have assisted at many of these types of births,” he gave the boy a small smile. “Do you not trust me?”

“Oh, I do, I really do…” Bowen rubbed his palms against his pant legs. “When will Daffyd get here?”

“Right behind you,” the man unlatched the door to the stall and walked in. “Sorry I’m late; we had a last minute call for both carriages. How’s she doing?” 

“It should not be long, I think.” The Elf said, as _Vórima_ stopped her pacing and grunted. 

Daffyd stepped behind Bowen and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, massaging them lightly. “And how are _you_ holding up, lad?” he asked with a smile.

“I’m all right,” Bowen tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just…”

“It’s always a grand thing when new life comes into the world,” Daffyd said in a gentle tone. “I’m glad we could be here.”

“Will she be okay? I don’t want anything to happen—”

“She’ll be fine, son. I know you’re scared, but females of all kinds have been doing this since the beginning of time. She probably will do this all by herself—”

“Probably?” Bowen squeaked.

“You’ve seen this before, son.” Daffyd put his arm around the boy’s shoulder.

“Oh, I know,” the boy nodded. “But this is…different.” 

“Of course, it is,” the man told him. “That mare is strong, she’s healthy and if she runs into any trouble, we’ll help her. It’ll be fine, Bow-- Oop! Here she goes!”

The mare grunted several times, then folded her front legs and sank to the ground, and rolled onto her side. 

“_Vórima_!” Bowen dashed forward, but Daffyd held his arm.

“It’s fine; she’s just rolling around to get the little one into place, so he can come out. See what Tur’s doing?” he pointed to the Elf who was squatting near her head and speaking softly in Sindarin. “He’s helping to keep her calm.”

“Daeron said the fathers sometimes help like that when Mams have babies.”

“Aye, most of them do, but not all. Some have to be kicked out or carried out.” Daffyd quirked one eyebrow at him with a knowing smile. “What do you think? Can you handle it?”

Bowen straightened his shoulders and forced a brave face. “She’s mine, like you said. I have to.”

“Good lad.”

_Vórima_ flopped onto her side again, and writhed with a loud moan, and the Elf’s face grew concerned.

Bowen chewed his lip. “Tur?” 

Turamarth straightened and gestured him forward. “I think the foal moved, and I need to examine her. Daffyd, can you bring one of buckets and the soap?”

“Sure thing,” Daffyd picked up the warm water from the corner of the stall, and met him at the mare’s tail.

“Bowen?” Tur pulled off his tunic, tied a few sacks around his waist with a rope and began to soap up one of his arms. “She is afraid and in pain. I need to you to talk to her.”

“But my Sindarin isn’t that good, and I only know a few words of Quenya.”

“The language does not matter,” the Elf said patiently, rubbing the bar of soap over his upper arm. “This is one of the reasons why I told you to talk to her. _Vórima_ loves you, and she will understand.”

Bowen lowered himself in the straw and sat cross-legged pulling the mare’s nose into his lap. One brown eye, surrounded by white blinked up at him, widened in pain and terror.

“It’s all right,” he stroked her nose and ran his other hand through her mane. “Don’t be afraid; Tur’s the smartest Elf I know, and he won’t let anything bad happen.”

“You’re doing fine,” Daffyd said, holding the horse’s tail as Tur laid down on the floor and stretched out and reached inside. “Keep talking to her, boy.”

_Vórima_’s body went rigid with another contraction. Turamarth grimaced as the muscles squeezed his arm. _“Ai!”_ he groaned. “Daffyd is right, Bowen; your horse is very strong,” he joked, as they waited for it to pass.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Bowen murmured, still stroking. “I’m right here. Let Tur see what’s wrong, and he’ll fix it. Nothing bad is going to happen, we won’t let it.”

Slowly, the mare’s face relaxed, and the whites of her eye disappeared.

“What’s going on in there?” Daffyd asked.

“One of the foal’s front legs is back and his head is up,” Tur said, with a sigh. “He is also very big. It is going to be a tight fit.”

“You can’t let it die!” Bowen gasped. The horse grew tense again, causing Turamarth to let out another yelp.

“Easy,” Daffyd cautioned. “If you get afraid, she’ll pick up on it and make it worse.”

“But—" he cried

“Bowen,” Tur ground out, as the horse cut off the circulation in his arm. “This is going to be difficult, but I am counting on you. I promise you; I will not let either of them die. Do you trust me?”

The boy swallowed, and made himself take a few deep breaths. “Yes.”

At last the horse’s body relaxed and Tur pulled his arm out with a relieved sigh. He rubbed it with a towel to get his blood flowing and lathered himself up again. Daffyd was busy making loops in the ropes and soaking them in another bucket.

“Ready?” he asked the Elf, handing him the first one.

With a nod Tur resumed his position. “Are you ready, Bowen?” 

“I’m okay,” the boy said, wishing it were true. What should he say?

A memory, one that he’d pushed to the back of his mind since his Mam died, rushed back to him. 

Mam liked to sing, whether she was doing dishes or hanging out the laundry in their home in Laketown, or puttering around the house. Da sometimes sang along, when he was home in the evenings, and occasionally, Bowen and Maddie joined in.

But whenever Bowen or Maddie woke with bad dreams, or if baby Owena couldn’t settle, Mam would gather her child in her arms, and cradled them against her soft chest, and sing in her soft, low voice. It was always the same song, and one of the things he missed the most.

His eyes filled, and he smiled down at _Vórima_. Then he opened his mouth.

_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy little baby._

_When you wake, you shall have,_

_All the pretty little horses._

_Blacks and bays, dapples and greys,_

_Go to sleepy you little baby,_

_Way down yonder, down in the meadow,_

_There's a poor wee little lamby._

_The bees and the butterflies pickin' at its eyes,_

_The poor wee thing cried for her mammy._

_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy little baby. **3**_

_When you wake, you shall have,_

_All the pretty little horses._

_Vórima’s _breathing became less haggard, and purpose appeared in her eyes. 

“I have the rope looped around his lower jaw,” Tur called out. “Take the end, and while I push him back, keep up a steady pressure and we will pull his head down into place.”

“Righto,” Daffyd said. “Keep singing, Bowen. You’re doing her a world of good.”

And he did, while images of his Mam and Da flooded his memory. How Da would always squeeze her arm whenever he walked past her. How Mam always did up his tea exactly the way he liked it at the dinner table. The feel of her fingers as she straightened his hair.

“You would have liked them,” he told _Vórima_, and he knew she understood. “You’re going to be a good, kind Mam, and he’ll look up to you, just like I do.”

“The head is down!” Tur told them. “Now, hand me another rope, and we will get the leg…”

_Vórima_ grunted loudly in pain, as Daffyd and Tur worked, but she kept her head in Bowen’s lap, as he sang and stroked and ran his fingers through her forelock. “That’s it,” he soothed. “We’re almost done…”

“We did it, Bowen!” Tur cried in triumph, as he straightened quickly wiped his arm. “The forelegs are presenting, and he is ready!”

“Good girl,” the boy told his horse. “Good, good girl.”

_Vórima_ neighed, and pulled herself up to stand, never taking her eyes off Bowen. He held her halter and kept up the crooning, as she finally got down to business. Turamarth and Daffyd each grabbed a small hoof and kept up a steady pressure. Three more contractions, and a russet-colored gangly mass slipped free and landed in the straw. 

_“Belain hanni!”_ Tur cried with glee, as he quickly cleared the foal’s mouth and nostrils. “He is perfect.”

“There he is!” Bowen cried, stroking the mare’s velvet nose. “You did it!” He threw his arms around his horse and buried his face in her neck. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured into her fur. 

“What a beauty!” Daffyd grabbed some straw and began to vigorously rub the colt. “You weren’t kidding, Tur; he’s huge! No wonder the poor lad couldn’t get himself lined up right. There wasn’t any room in there.”

After rubbing her face against the boy’s back in a gesture of thanks, the mare turned around and forgot all about him, as she riveted her gaze on her son. She snuffed and cleaned and licked, and within minutes, the foal was on his feet, wobbling over to take his first meal.

“How does he know to do that?”

“It’s instinct,” a strong, comforting arm fell on Bowen’s shoulders. “You did good, son,” Daffyd’s voice was rough. “I don’t want to think what could have happened if you hadn’t settled her.”

Bowen swallowed down a lump in his throat. “You helped save them. For me.”

“Of course, we did.” The grey-haired man smiled down at the boy as he grasped the back of Bowen’s neck and pulled him into a hug. “Oh, my boy…” his large hand rested on the back of Bowen’s head. “Your Mam and Da would be so proud of you.”

“Really?” Bowen sighed.

“Oh, Lordy…” Daffyd threw back his head and chuckled. “Everything you did, made Owen bust his buttons, he was so proud of you.” Daffyd lowered his hands and stepped back to look into his eyes. “I want you to know I love you, boy. You’re everything your Mam and Da hoped you would be, and I’m privileged to be a part of it, but I love you for _yourself,_ not just because Owen was my best friend.”

Bowen’s gaze fell upon the nursing foal, with a full heart. Because at last, he understood. No one could replace his Mam and Da, but it was all right to love Anna and Daffyd, because love isn’t something you keep. It’s meant to be given away, and in the giving, you end up having more.

Bowen raised his head and met Daffyd’s eyes. Then he threw his arms around the man and hugged him. “I love you, too.” And he did. 

***************

Tur looked on the man and boy with a smile as he cleaned himself up. As he ran the towel over his arms and torso, the newborn foal blinked up at him, unable to understand this new place, and stiffened in fear and confusion. He squatted down, placed his hand on the white star between eyes and closed his eyes. 

_Welcome to the world, child,_ he told the small colt. _You are safe, you are wanted, and you are very much loved…_

The animal’s muscles slowly relaxed. The colt closed his eyes and leaned into his touch. Somehow, he knew it was Tur who had given him this chance to emerge into the air and take his first breath. He knew it was Turamarth’s hands that reached in and brought him out to the light, and that those hands were strong, and careful and loving.

The foal sent him such wave of such gratitude and happiness, the power of it knocked Tur off his haunches. With his other arm, he settled into a cross-legged position in the deep straw, and kept his hand on the animal’s head, never breaking the connection. 

_You are safe, you are wanted, and you are very much loved…._

Only newborn creatures possessed joy this pure, this innocent, and Tur took a deep breath and allowed it to wash over him. The foal knew all this, somehow and remained perfectly still, pushing his head into Turamarth’s hand.

_You are safe, you are wanted, and you are very much loved…._

At last Tur lifted his hand, wiping the tears that had fallen from his cheeks. The colt seemed to know the moment was over and began to struggle to his feet. Tur laughed, his vision still blurred, and helped the animal to stand and pointed him toward his mother, who inspected her new son thoroughly.

Daffyd had his arm around Bowen’s shoulders, observing mother and child in hushed, reverent tones. The boy laughed as he glanced up at his foster father, who return his smile with fatherly pride. A barrier had come down between them, and now things were just as they should be. 

Turamarth had grown to deeply care about this boy, and they would remain good friends for as long as Bowen lived, but it was right that Anna and Daffyd take their rightful places in his life.

When the Guardian finally arrived home, he took a hot bath and crawled into bed, thinking of the new foal, and how its untainted happiness brushed against the scars on his own _fëa_, soaking into them, softening them.

And, as always, he thought about Evvy. How her hair caught the light, how her eyes grew bigger when she laughed, and the little furrow between her eyes that appeared when she was thoughtful.

And something in him, something he’d been afraid was gone forever, stirred in him. His hand tentatively moved from his chest down to his stomach. His breath caught, and his fingers curled with apprehension. What if it happened – or _didn’t_ happen – again? 

It was there, the stirrings had always been there, but like a moth, it pounded against the window, not understanding why it would never get in. The arousal would make him twitch, and the pressure begin to build. Tur would close his eyes, throw his head back and beg for release—

Then nothing.

With a frustrated growl, Tur took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. No; this night was too perfect to spoil it again with failure.

Evvy’s face appeared in his mind again. And he remembered her kisses, how her tongue pushed back against his as they explored each other’s mouths. The feel of her breasts as she pressed into him, her small hips curling forward, and her long, long legs…

His hand of its own accord reached for his cock, and to his surprise, it was hard. He carefully curled his fingers around it, and stroked himself, slowly at first, then faster. He ran his thumb over the tip and used the precum to massage its cleft, and he grew harder.

His hips began to thrust up into his hand, as he placed the other one over his mouth to stifle his cries.

_Evvy… Oh, stars, his beautiful Evvy, who wanted him in every way possible…_

No bad memories this time. No image of a frightened, tortured _Elleth_ beneath him. Just, Evvy, with her creamy skin, her beautiful full breasts and legs locked around him, crying out, begging him not to stop, as her body squeezed him tighter.

Five more strokes and Tur had to grab his pillow to contain his screams as he came all over his abdomen in thick white stripes. He thrust through his orgasm until his cock was finally spent, then flopped back against the mattress, gasping for breath.

_“Na mhedui!”_ he croaked, and threw his arm over his eyes and laughed with gladness until tears flowed from his eyes

At long last, Turamarth Ómarion was whole.

***************

**Lothlórien, 5th of September 2945 T.A.**

As hard as it was to leave Turamarth and all the friends she had made in the North, Evranin was glad she came home. The Golden Wood had never seemed more beautiful. 

Evvy spent weeks looking at her homeland with new, appreciative eyes. Never again would she take this for granted, she promised herself. The Mallorn trees, the walkways lined with flowerboxes, how the sun’s rays peeked through the treetops to the Forest Floor. The first night, at the Lighting of the Lamps, Evvy closed her eyes and joined in the song and allowed the harmonies flow through her, joining the communion with the trees and all the living things in the Forest.

_Ada_ was living with Orlin now, and their former home had new occupants. There was room for Evvy at Orlin’s flet, but the Lady of Light had other ideas.

“I have prepared rooms for you in my home,” Galadriel said. “As a daughter you will be to me, for a little while.”

“But My Lady, I cannot impose—”

“Please, _Hênig_,” the Lady raised her hand to calm her, “allow me to explain. I owe you an apology, Evranin. I do not like to interfere in the personal lives of my subjects, but in your case, it was wrong of me to stay my hand. I always respected your mother, and sympathized with her situation, but that is no excuse for allowing her behavior toward you.”

“But you did not know,” Evvy said. 

“I should have made it my business to find out. I could have worked with your mother to ease her anxiety. I could have done something for your father, and I could have eased your suffering, but I did not. It is one of my biggest regrets, and it is only by the grace of the Valar that you are all right.” Galadriel smiled sadly. “I must also confess that I want to do this for selfish reasons.”

“You could never be selfish, My Lady,” Evvy shook her head.

“Can I not?” the Lady laughed. “I have a daughter as well; do you forget?”

“N-no, but—”

“The greatest joy of my life was raising her. I miss _mothering,_ if I am honest. I’d like to do this for you, Evranin, if you will allow it.”

Her rooms at Celeborn’s and Galadriel’s house were large, but not so ornate as to make her uncomfortable. The Lady had installed furniture with simple lines, with a comforter in her favorite color, and added shelves full of books. It was perfect.

Her days were full of satisfying work as she edited and arranged Daeron’s book. The evenings were full long walks and frequent meals with _Ada_ and Orlin, full of laughter and love. 

Maybe that was the most important reason to come back home. It was easy to turn a new leaf among strangers in another land, but returning to Lothlórien meant facing her memories, facing the feelings she’d struggled with for most of her life. It was here she had endured her mother’s constant disapproval, here where she’d learned to get through the days by curling up inside of herself, refusing to let anyone but Orlin truly see who she was.

On the days when these painful truths haunted Evvy, Galadriel opened her arms and held her tight as she poured out her heart. The Lady stroked her head and murmured comfort and encouragement, but best of all, she _listened._

It was nearly impossible to accept praise and approval at first, but with time that deep chasm within her slowly shifted until it was closed altogether.

But oh, how she missed Turamarth! Evvy dreamed about him at night, longing to be with him, to wake up with him and go about their daily lives together. She also dreamed of them, locked in a passionate embrace, joining their bodies together until their _fëas_ were one. What would it be like? Would she enjoy it? 

Evvy wrote to Tur every day, sealing her letters with wax, and tied the packet with a silver ribbon, ready to for the Messenger to take them, picturing his face when he opened each one.

When the horn sounded and the messengers arrived, Evvy would drop what she was doing, lift up her skirts and race down the steps to the Forest Floor, waiting to be handed a stack of papers tied with a green ribbon, and her name written in his unique backward slant. With a squeal of delight, she held the packet to her bosom run to her rooms and throw herself on the bed and read every single one at least three times.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, as Evvy settled into this newer, better version of herself. She was becoming the _Elleth _she was meant to be. 

“Good morning,” Galadriel said with a smile as she entered Evranin’s chambers. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning, My Lady.” The _Elleth_ twisted around in her seat in front of the mirror and put down her brush. “Has the messenger come yet?”

Galadriel laughed softly as she came up behind her, picked up the brush and ran it through Evvy’s ash blonde locks in long, soothing strokes. Then she sectioned out a few strands in the front, brought them to the back and she arranged them in an intricate braid. “They are only a few days late, _Aewpîn_. Are you afraid your Guardian has forgotten about you so soon? From the thickness of the packet he sent last time, I highly doubt it.”

“No,” she met Galadriel’s eyes through the mirror. “It’s just that…” she pursed her lips. “I know he wants me, and I want him, and I know he still struggles from his attack here, but…” she bit her lip. “What is he waiting for? Why does he not write my father?

“Who is to say he has not?” Galadriel tied off the braid and arranged it in lovely swirls on the top of her head. 

Evvy twisted out of her grip. “You mean he has? What does my father say?”

The Lady grasped her head, made her face forward again, and continued to arrange her hair. She tilted her head, then went to the vase of flowers on her bedside table and took a few of the small lavender blossoms and place them in her hair. “There. You look lovely, my dear.”

“Thank you, but please, My Lady; Can you not tell me something?” Evvy begged. 

Galadriel went to her closet and pulled out one of her prettiest dresses. “I have always liked this on you,” she said as she laid it out on the bed.

“I know you ‘see’ things, and—”

“This is what I see,” the Lady grasped her chin and gently turned her face upward. Her countenance had changed slightly as her eyes grew serious. “Your Guardian has been waiting, but before you agree to marry him, you must give him a gift.”

“What kind of gift?” Evvy’s mind filled with ideas. “Is it a tapestry? A piece of jewelry?”

“No, child,” Galadriel’s voice was kind, but compelling. “Your best gift is to listen without judgement, and once you know his darkest, most frightening secret, you must decide if you can still love him with all your heart.” Her blue eyes gazed into Evranin’s. “You must prove to him – and to yourself – how strong you really are.”

“I do not understand,” Evvy’s voice trembled.

“You will, but I have faith in you,” the Lady kissed her brow, and helped her get into her dress. “Lovely. I think you are ready.”

“For what?”

The Lady’s smile was enigmatic. “The horns will be blowing in a few minutes. Do you not want to meet the Messenger when he arrives?”

“Oh, praise the Stars: finally!” Evvy rose and dashed to the door. Then she stopped and gave Galadriel a hug. “Thank you!”

By the time she reached the last step, the blast of the horns signaled the arrival of a visitors to Caras Galadhon. Several Elves had gathered, and gaily chatted amongst themselves as they waited. To have a small crowd waiting for the Messengers was not unusual, but something about this was different. 

“Here they come!” one _Elleth_ pointed to the road leading into the City.

“This is more than just a messenger,” Evvy observed.

“Of course, it is, _Aewpîn_.” A voice behind her said.

She whirled around to see her father and her brother approach with excited grins. “Why are you here?”

“You will see,” was all Óhtar would say, as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

The parade of Galadhrim, led by Marchwarden Haldir, along with his brothers Rúmil and Orophin entered Caras Galadhon. All were resplendent in their full dress armor. 

At last, the light began to dawn. “Oh,” she breathed, “Are they—”

But the rest of her sentence died in her throat. Behind the company of Wardens were six Guardians of the Woodland Realm. All looked magnificent in their golden armor bearing the crest of their King, all wearing helmets to match, with sharp pointed crests.

Leading the group was their ranking officer, sitting straight and tall in the saddle, full of confidence and courage, graciously bowing his head to accept the Lord and Lady's welcome. When the formalities were over, the tall soldier with broad shoulders removed his helmet and shook out his long, mahogany colored hair as he eyes swept over the gathering, searching...

Evranin couldn’t stop her joyous cry, and pressed through the crowd, until she reached the front. At last the Guardian’s gaze fell upon her, and he dismounted, handing the reins to Rúmil, who was grinning from ear to ear.

Evvy could barely see through her tears as the Elf swept her up in his strong arms, lifted her off the ground and kissed her, to the delight and applause of the crowd.

Turamarth Ómarion - newly promoted to Captain - had come to the Golden Wood.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Belain hanni! –_ Thank the Valar!

_Rista-Goel_ \- “Terrible Severing,” when a bond-mate dies and their fëa is summoned to the Halls of Mandos. Often a spouse fades from the agony, but even if they live, they are but a shell of their former selves.

_Na mhedui!_ – At last!

**NOTES:**

[1] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 20: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/34855688>

[2] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 11: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/33752517>

[3] From Lullaby Link: <http://www.lullaby-link.com/all-the-pretty-little-horses.html>


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY: The Kings take a trip out of the City of Bells, Bard faces his past, and makes plans for the future. We see how Turamarth came to arrive at the Golden Wood, and Tauriel comes home from her vacation in the Lonely Mountain only to receive some shocking news.

_Gonna find you_

_And keep you happy_

_(Ready or not here I come)_

_(You can’t hide from my love)_

_Gonna love you_

_And make you love me_

_Anywhere you go…”_

_ Performed by** The Jackson 5** _

* * *

**City of Dale, 4th of June 2945 T.A.**

Today, the King of Dale was not in his Castle, nor was he even in the City. Today the King of the Woodland Realm did not walk their youngest child to school.

They rose before dawn, ate a light breakfast, and descended the Grand Staircase in their mithril armor. Four Elves, also in armor waited for them in the courtyard.

“Good morning, My Lord,” Ivran and Turamarth saluted them, as they held the reins to _Naurmôr_ and _Fînlossen_.

“Good morning,” Bard took the reins from Tur. “How is the foal?”

“He is strong and healthy,” the Guardian grinned. “_Fînlossen_ is exceedingly proud of his offspring, though _Vórima_ did all the work. I do not think she is pleased with him at the moment.”

“I don’t blame her. They told me the birth was difficult; is the mare all right?”

“She is free of pain, now. Daeron took his family to see them, and he eased the inflammation.”

“Excellent. Once mother and child are more settled, I’ll pop down to the barns and have a look. Bain says Bowen is ecstatic.”

“And well he should be,” Thranduil mounted up on his black stallion. “Has he named the foal, yet?”

“I believe he has decided on_ Caragos_, My Lord.” 

“’Red Storm,’” Bard said, ignoring his husband’s surprised glance. “I like it.” He mounted _Fînlossen_, and settled in the saddle. “The sooner we get started, the sooner we get back,” he said with a sigh.

The Kings and their escort wound through the streets until they reached the South Gate and exited the City. They reached the road to the Woodland Realm, just as the sun rose, but they passed it and continued Southward.

They reached the top of the Long Lake an hour later, where a long pier had been built in the last three years to accommodate the fisherman who brought their fresh catches to Dale almost every morning.

One of the Men had just finished tying his boat to the pier jumped out, took off his hat and bowed to the Kings.

“Good morrow, My Lords,” he said as he replaced his cap, and surveyed the party. “How can I be of service to you?”

“We’re just passing through, Charlie. Are they biting, today?”

“Oh, aye,” the Man returned to his boat and came back with a small sack. “They’ll need to be cleaned, but it’ll make a fine lunch, for you.”

“I appreciate that, but I insist upon paying you,” the King of Dale took two gold coins from his pocket and handed them down to the Man. “It doesn’t get much fresher than this,” he handed the sack to Turamarth, who placed it in a saddle bag. 

“Have a safe trip and good luck to you,” the fisherman bowed again and went back to his boat.

“You are very quiet, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil said him two hours later, as they followed the road beside the Long Lake.

“I was just… thinking and remembering.” He said, as his shoulders lifted and fell in a sigh. 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Bard’s eyes turned skyward, as he recalled. “I’m glad it’s warm today. I’m also glad I don’t feel the heat or the cold so much, or I’d be roasting in this armor…”

“I know it is an inconvenience, but we do not know what we might run into at the ruins,” the Elvenking reminded him. 

“Oh, I know, love. It’s just that I’ll never forget the cold then. It wasn’t just the weather, though. Grief and misery and fear and hopelessness chills the bones in a way no fire can reach…. And there were so many, Thranduil. So many of them, and I had no idea of I was even doing the right thing by taking them to Dale, you know? The trip was hard enough on empty bellies and we had so many who had been hurt…” his eyes filled with tears.

Thranduil brought _Naurmôr_ closer and took his hand. “You had to find some sort of shelter, _Meleth nîn_. It was not a foolish idea.”

“But what if you and your people had not come?” Bard’s throat tightened painfully. “I actually wondered if would have been kinder to stay and freeze to death quickly, rather than slowly starve…”

_“Ai, Hervenn cand nîn…” _the Elvenking squeezed his hand. “I know how painful it is to face the past, but please try to keep in mind where we are today. I give thanks every day that the Valar brought me to you.” He raised Bard’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Do not make things harder for yourself than they have to be.”

“You’re right, love.” Bard’s eyes stung, and he let go his hand to quickly wipe his eyes. “I’ll have enough trouble when I see it; it’s silly to make things worse.”

“Do you want to stop for lunch before?”

“Aye. Something tells me I won’t have much of an appetite once I get there.”

The Guardians secured their horses and soon had a nice fire going inside a circle of dead logs they had gathered. Despite the Elves objections, Bard insisted upon cleaning the fish himself.

“I don’t want to lose my touch,” he smirked.

While Cwën was preparing the tea, Ivran and the others gathered some maple leaves and cleaned them. Once Bard had the filets ready, he sprinkled them with salt, they wrapped them in the leaves and tied them with string and placed them in the coals to cook for ten minutes.

“This is delicious,” Thranduil said, as he brought another forkful to his mouth. 

“Have you ever gone fishing?” Bard asked him.

“Not for a long time, though I enjoyed it a great deal as a child. My father would sometimes take me, though I suspect he did not much care if he caught anything. It was a chance to enjoy the Forest and the quiet,” his cheeks rounded as he smiled. “Though if he did catch a fish, I was the one who had to clean them.”

“I think fathers everywhere do that,” Bard’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “Thank you for doing this, love. I know I’ll have to come back with Ben and Llew to survey the damage, but this first time, I needed to face it alone.”

“But you are not alone,” Thranduil put his arm around Bard’s waist.

Eventually, they packed up and resumed their journey.   
  
When the ruins were sighted in the distance, Bard’s stomach stirred.

When at last they reached the ruins of what was once Laketown, Bard stared at the charred remains of his homeland. The sun reflected off the water, and the wind blew through the blackened beams and broken walkways. Some of the houses stood, though their walls bore black licks of the flames. Others were nothing but rubble. 

“Bard?”

But he didn’t hear his husband. The sky suddenly grew black as night, and red-gold flames were everywhere. 

_He was on the Bell-Tower again, terrified beyond comprehension, as the impossibly huge teeth of Smaug the Terrible hovered near his son… And always, there were screams. Some screamed in agony as the flames claimed their lives. Some screamed as they watched their loved ones die, helpless to save them, lest they, too, lose their lives and who would care for their families. Some screamed as their children burned. Those who were fortunate enough to reach their boats, screamed in terror as the Dragon flew overhead, praying with all their might they would be spared._

_Five thousand people died that night… _

When the flames died down in his mind and he returned to himself, he jumped off _Fînlossen_, ran to a nearby tree and lost his lunch.

“_Bard!”_ Footsteps came up behind him, and Thranduil was at his side, pouring water over his handkerchief and held it to the back of his neck. “I have you,” he said as he gripped Bard’s arm. “Are you dizzy?”

He couldn’t talk just yet, but he managed to shake his head. 

“Sit down,” the Elvenking ordered, leading him to a spot of shade and unbuckled his breastplate. After removing it, he urged the Bowman to put his head between his knees. “Just breathe, _Meleth nîn_; just breathe…”

After a few minutes, Bard’s head cleared, and he took several deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Do not be. No one who faces a creature of Morgoth comes away unscathed; some scars are visible, like mine, but we both hear echoes, do we not?”

The Bowman slowly nodded his head. “Will it always be like this?”

The Elvenking sat down and cupped his cheek. “What did you say to me the night I received Mírelen’s necklace from the Dwarves?” 1

“I said if you talked about it, it would get better.”

“And it did,” Thranduil leaned down to meet his eyes as he lifted Bard’s chin. “This is no different. Was this not why you wanted to come? To face down your demons, so when you came back, you could offer solace to the others?”

“I just didn’t expect it would be this bad,” Bard took the wineskin Thranduil offered and after rinsing out his mouth, raised it to his lips again for a long drink. 

“I think the worst is over,” he replaced the cork and got to his feet. Let’s get this over with.”

The Elves waited patiently at a discreet distance, until the Kings returned. Bard led them into the woods until they reached a large structure for storing boats. 

“It’s only been a few years, so unless they’ve been sabotaged on purpose, they’ll be sound,” Bard said. “Let’s take a look.”

They carried two of them to the shore, and paddled towards the ruins. “I’m surprised at the number of houses still standing, though I imagine they’ve been looted.” 2

When they reached the ruins, Bard pointed. “There’s my house, Thranduil. Or what’s left of it, anyway. Do you think it would be safe to walk around in it?”

“Let me check first, _Meleth nîn.”_ The Elvenking turned and ordered the others to explore the area, then gracefully stepped out of the boat and onto the walkway. “It feels solid.”

Bard took Thranduil’s outstretched hand and joined him. Part of the roof had caved in, but the stairs were intact, and the door was open.

Most of the floor was covered in detritus, and looters had taken all the pots, pans, blankets and pillows, but Bard didn’t mind that; he had little worth stealing then. 

“Where did you sleep?” Thranduil asked.

“Well, the girls took the bed over there, and Bain slept up in the loft.”

The Elvenking was shocked. “It looks uncomfortable.”

Bard’s cheeks felt hot. “I made do by propping my feet on one of the chairs. I wanted to be closest to the door,” he shrugged sheepishly.

“To protect your children,” the Elvenking smiled. “Another reason why I love— Bard, what are you doing?”

The Bowman was on his hands and knees and pulling at a floorboard under the bench. “Can you give me a hand?”

Thranduil knelt peered under, took out his knife and pried the board loose.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Bard rolled his eyes.

“Because you need me,” Thranduil managed to lift one end, so his husband could grab it and pull it free. 

“I hid this, because I was afraid the Master would decide to take it.” Bard lifted out a plain metal box, normally used to store fishhooks and other small tools. After working the rusted latch free, he lifted the lid to reveal its contents.

Thranduil smiled, as he held up a bunch of keys on a ring. “Are these not the not the same keys Sigrid cut her teeth on?” 3

“From my Da,” Bard said softly. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.”

The Bowman reached into a small pouch and produced a thin gold wedding band. “This was Mattie’s wedding ring. It used to be her mother’s.” His vision blurred and he ran his sleeve over his eyes. “Bain should have this, for his bride.”

“This is lovely,” Thranduil picked up the small silver pin shaped like a bird, lovingly preserved.

“That was my Mam’s. The only thing I have left of her.”

“Since Tilda takes after your mother, perhaps she could have it?”

“I’d like that.” Bard closed up the box, and got to his feet, hugging it to him. “I know to someone like you these don’t seem like much…” his gaze fell.

“Oh, _Meleth nîn_,” Thranduil put his arms around him. “They are worth more than all the gold and jewels in your vaults. The children will treasure them, I am sure of it.”

Bard closed his eyes and sunk into his Elf’s strong shoulders. “I’m glad I came, but can we go? I don’t ever want to set foot in this house again.”

“Of course,” Thranduil led him out the door and back down to the walkway, just as Turamarth and Amroth paddled toward them, faces alight with excitement. 

“My Lords!” Tur beamed. “The Dragons remains are but a few feet under the water, and can be easily harvested.”

“That’s great,” Bard raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“We have found it!”

“Found what?”

Turamarth stood, reached under the seats and pulled out…

The Black Arrow. 

“Oh, my stars…”

Bard’s hands shook as the Guardian jumped onto the walkway and placed it in his hands.

“There is no sign of damage or decay,” Thranduil marveled. 

It looked just as new as when it resided in the rafters of Bard’s house, hidden among the drying plants and flowers. Of course, it was the proof of Bard’s right to Kingship, but in that moment, all he could think of was his father. Brand, son of Brenin, son of Gunnyr, son of Vidar, son of Balden, son of Torben, son of Garon, son of Girion, the last King of Old Dale…

…had _never_ needed a crown or even a title. 

In Bard’s eyes, he’d always been a King.

_Deep breaths,_ he told himself, but it was no use. A sob escaped him as the blackness of the Arrow blended with the rest of his surroundings, and suddenly his cheeks were wet. 

Warm arms surrounded him, and lips kissed his hair and a deep voice, filled with love murmured, “Another priceless treasure of your house, _Meleth nîn.”_

Bard opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

***************

**City of Dale, 1st of August 2945 T.A.**

“Daeron? Can I talk to you?” 

Turamarth waited outside the examination room of the Healing Hall, and stood aside to allow Glélindë to exit the room. 4

“_Suil_, _Tur!”_ the _Elleth_ smiled brightly. 

He returned the greeting, and added, “How do you feel?”

“Daeron said it will be any day, now.” She patted her bump. 

“How are Alis and Dafina?”

“The girls are full of excitement at the arrival of their baby brother.”

“I didn’t see them in the Waiting Area,” he watched in fascination as her belly twitched.

“They are—Ooh!” she pushed on the spot where a hand (or a foot?) distended. “He is anxious to make his entrance, I think. The girls are with Rhian and Elénaril today. They are helping with the Darryn and the triplets at the park. I am headed there, now.”

“Do you need help?”

“Thank you, no; the walk will be good for me,” she waved her hand in farewell, and made her way toward the front, her long red hair swaying on her low back as she waddled.

Daeron had finished washing his hands and was reaching for a linen hand towel. “What brings you here? Are you unwell?”

“Not at all. Do you have time now, or would you rather we speak later?”

Daeron’s eyes narrowed slightly. “My next appointment will not be for another hour, and I can ask Ermon to cover in case of emergencies. Would you like to take a walk? We could get some lunch and Adila’s.”

“Could we stay here? This is… personal.”

“Of course,” Daeron closed the door, and patted the examination table. “Do you need—”

“Oh, nothing like that.” Turamarth went to one of the chairs and sat, as his cousin jumped up on the table, facing him expectantly. 

“I… haven’t said anything, because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a temporary fluke…”

“What wasn’t?”

The Elf stared down at his fingers fumbling in his lap. “Remember last December, when we went to see Mithrandir, and he said…” 5

“How could I forget?” his _Gwador_ giggled. “You were so drunk, I nearly carried you to our rooms, and you could barely stand when we went to see Óhtar the next morning!” His giggles turning into laughter, and Turamarth waited patiently for his cousin to understand his meaning.

It took a minute or so, but eventually Daeron quieted. Then his jaw dropped. “You mean, you…” he waved his hand meaningfully and eyed Tur’s crotch.

Tur nodded, a slow smile creeping across his face.

“Really?” Daeron squeaked, eyes widening in delight.

“You laugh like a Elfling, _Ulthîr.” _

“I am not.” Daeron kicked his knee. “And I do not!”

“Yes you are; I am the pretty one, and you sounded just like Princess Tilda just now.”

Daeron whooped with delight, grabbed his arms, hauled him from the chair and gave a tight hug that pushed the air out of Tur’s lungs “At last! I am so happy for you, Tur!”

“I am, too.” He said. Or he tried to say it, but all he could manage was a grunt as pounded his cousin’s back to loosened his grip. 

“What?” Daeron asked.

“I said, ‘I am, too.’”

“Of course, you are! Now you and Evvy can marry and…” Daeron tilted his head. “How do you plan to see her, _Gwador_? She is with her father in Lothlórien and I do not think… What?”

Turamarth sat back down. “I have something else to tell you,” he indicated the table for Daeron to sit again.

“What is it?”

“I have just spoken with Lord Thranduil, and there is good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”

“Good.”

“He and Commander Feren have decided to promote me to Captain,” he smirked. “Which means I am now your superior officer.”

Daeron rolled his eyes. “You think I will take orders from you? Think again.”

“Stop it. I requested that there be no ceremony—”

“Rhian will have our hides if there is not some sort of celebration. You know that.”

“That is what the King said. So will our parents, so we decided on a small party at the Palace in two weeks.”

“That makes sense; but can they not come here?”

Turamarth shook his head slowly and bit his lip. “That will not be possible. You see, my first assignment as Captain is to command the unit that will be spending the next year in the Golden Wood.”

_“Man ebentheg?”_ Daeron almost fell from his perch. 

“I volunteered as part of the military exchange, Daeron. We leave immediately after my promotion, and the Galadhrim will arrive here shortly after. We will be accompanied by the Captain Rahlen and the rest of the Vanguard, and they will travel from there to Rivendell. Lt. Commander Mablung will join us in Lothlorien, and accompany the Galadhrim Unit through the Forest Path.

“But what about Vildan? His horse should not travel the Redhorn Pass in her condition.”

“Elrond has granted permission for Vildan to stay, until after she drops her foal in October,” Tur continued. “I am not sure what he will do after that but—”

“You are going back,” Daeron said in a strangled voice.

“I am,” Tur tried not to gulp, as he nodded his head.

“I do not want to discourage you, _Gwador_, but are you sure you are ready to face…_so soon?”_

Tur swallowed. “I have written to her father and asked for her hand, which he has granted, provided Evvy accepts and we observe the traditional year of betrothal. He wants the wedding to take place there, among her family and friends.”

“I know, but…”

“Evvy loves me, but she also loves her home, and it will mean a great deal to her if I learn to love it, too.” He paused as his spine went stiff. “But there is another important reason…”

“Which is?”

“I have to see her, face-to-face and tell her _everything_. It would not be fair for her to agree to marry me, without knowing the entire story. I will not keep secrets from her, Daeron; I cannot! Once we join, she will know, and…” he blew out long, slow breath. “This is the right thing to do.”

His _Gwador_ froze, and his hands gripped the end of the table until his knuckles whitened. “I understand what you are saying, Tur, truly I do, but I am frightened for you. You were in such a state when we brought you home, and I…” his voice cracked. “What if she cannot get past it? You would be stuck there for an entire year, unless you have such a setback that they send you home again! I do not know if I could bear seeing you like that, again. I know it seems selfish, and perhaps it is, but you are my brother in all but name, and the idea of—”

Tur was instantly on his feet, his hands on Daeron’s shoulders. “I am frightened, as well, but I _must_ do this. Lord Thranduil’s concerns are the same as yours, but he understands. Do not forget that Lady Galadriel will be there, and she is much stronger now. Please, _Gwador_; I need your support.”

Daeron blinked at him for a moment, then nodded his head. “Always, Tur. You know that.”

“Good,” he patted Daeron’s upper arms. “Because I will need your help convincing Rhian.”

His cousin made a face. “We had better wait until after Darryn goes to bed. She will, as they say, “pitch a fit’”

“What will help?”

“Remind her that the wedding will take place in Lothlórien. And that she will finally get to see it for herself.”

“Will it work?”

“I doubt it, but it is worth a try.”

As it turned out, Rhian’s reaction was not quite what Tur expected. He had braced himself for an explosion worthy of Hilda (who he was sure was mentoring his _Gwathel_ in the Art of Formidable Women), but when she collapsed in tears, he wondered if this wasn’t worse.

“I’ll miss you so much,” she threw her arms around his neck, and sobbed. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

He returned her embrace and enjoyed the minty smell of her hair for a moment, before pulling back and grabbing his handkerchief. “What, _Gwathel?”_

“When you leave, you won’t be coming back here.”

“Of course, I will; once we are married, I must return.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she sniffled. “You won’t be _here In this house _anymore! You’ll be with your wife, in a home of your own.” Rhian’s face crumpled. “I loved having you with us! I always wanted a protective big brother, but you’re more than that; you’re my best friend. What am I going to do without you to tease me?”

“I am sure your husband can plague you just as well,” Tur chuckled. “And I will write you both often, and give him all sorts of ideas to keep you on your toes.”

“But it won’t be the same,” she wailed. “When I had my breakdown last year; what would have happened if you hadn’t—” 6

“Shhh…” he soothed. “You and Daeron would have worked things out eventually.”

“And when they told me about this prophecy, about Sellwen and all that other stuff, you were the one who made me feel better! 7 And you taught me to defend myself, and show me all the things my body can do now…” her shoulders were shaking hard, and she couldn’t catch her breath. “I know you s-should go get Evvy and m-marry her and l-live your own l-life, and I hate that I’m so upset, but—“

Tur held her face and kissed her forehead. “Do you not see, _Gwathel_ _nîn?_ It is _because_ of you that I am well enough to go! No one else could have helped me as much as you, and I am able to smile, to have hope and to love someone like Evvy, because you were brave enough to share your story with me. You convinced me I was not alone in any of this, and I owe you my life.”

“Dammit, Tur!” she sobbed. “You’re gonna make me cry—”

“’Going to?” the corner of his mouth curved up in a half-smile. “You are blubbering, Rhian.”

She pinched him. 

_“Naeg!”_ he jerked away, rubbing his side with a pout. “That hurt!”

“Be quiet,” she scolded, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. “This is just like you! We’re having this deep, meaningful moment, and _you _try to be funny.”

“I am funny; I do not have to try.” He poked her.

“Stop it,” Rhian warned. “I know where you keep your weapons.”

He poked her again.

“Turamarth Ómarion…” she backed away, as Daeron covered his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said innocently.

“No, but your going to try to tickle me, and I swear—”

It was no use. Immortal or no, an Elf was always quicker. He caught Rhian just as she made it to the dining room before he grabbed her. Soon enough, the tears were gone, replaced with helpless laughter, though she managed to get him good in the shins a few times.

Then she lifted her leg, jammed her heel on the top of his foot, and when he cried out in pain, she turned in his arms and had him flattened on the ground, with the wind knocked out of him.

“Gotcha,” she said triumphantly.

“Daeron! Can you not keep your wife under control?” He sat up and rested his arm on one knee. “She is a menace!”

“You were the one who taught her that maneuver; why are you complaining?” His cousin came behind his wife, put his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. “I am proud of you, _Hind Calen.”_

“Thank you, babe,” she turned her head and smiled up at him. Then, though her nose was still red and her eyes a bit puffy, she met Turamarth’s gaze. “I’m really going to miss this, but you deserve to be just as happy as we are.” 

He untangled his legs and took them both in his arms. “I love you both.”

“We love you, too,” Daeron said. “We’ll help you speak to your nephew, though he will not understand.”

_Ai, gorgor…_ Tur’s heart sank at the image of Darryn’s trusting, innocent face. “Will he forget about me?”

Rhian patted his cheek. “You think we’d let him forget his Unca Tur? Not a chance! I’ll ask Lord Thranduil to draw all kinds of pictures of you, and we’ll put them all up in his room. And we’ll read your letters to him and talk about all your adventures.” Tears threatened to escape from her eyes again, but she managed to keep them in check. “You’ll go to the Golden Wood, and it’ll be fine.” She shook her finger at him. “You go get your Evvy, bring her back here so our babies will grow up together.”

“Yes, My Lady,” he smiled.

***************

**9th of August 2945 T.A.**

Sigrid had been present when Ermon and Elénaril’s triplets were born, but this was the first time she’d attended the natural birth of an Elfling.

Of course, she’d studied, and was quizzed on the subject by Lord Elrond and the rest of her instructors, but there was nothing like experience.

Actually, it wasn’t that much different than a human birth. Labor pains, a harried father, and a mother who sometimes got a bit… grouchy.

Daeron had seen a lot worse, he’d said, but it was still a shock when ‘Lindë threatened to rip Feren’s hair out if he didn’t stop telling her to push. And, as usual, she turned back into the kind, sweet _Elleth_ she’d always been between contractions, apologizing all over the place. Until the next one…

But at last, the tiny Elfling with father’s eyes and hair the same shade as his mother’s made his way into the world and regarded his new surroundings. Then he opened his mouth and let everyone know just what he thought about it.

“He is perfect.” Daeron finished cleaning up the newborn Elfling, swaddled him in a soft blanket and handed him over to Glélindë. 

The _Elleth_’s arms reached for her son, and drank in the sight of him with a tired smile. Her hair was damp with sweat, but her eyes were glowing. “He is so beautiful,” she whispered in awe.

Feren leaned over his wife, and fell under the baby’s spell. “Our son…” he kissed ‘Lindë’s forehead. “How are you, _Vuin?”_

“Sore,” she laughed. 

“I will take care of that in a minute,” Daeron told her as he scrubbed his hands with a small brush.

“I love you,” the Commander swiped at his eye, and kissed the baby’s head. “I am so proud of you. Thank you for this.”

“Do you have a name picked out?” Daeron pulled back the blankets and rested his hands on ‘Lindë’s abdomen.

Feren met his wife’s proud gaze. “We are going to name him Imrahil, after my father.”

An hour later, once ‘Lindë was made as comfortable as possible, Sigrid left the Healing Hall just in time to see her older sister headed toward the Castle.

“Tauriel!” she trotted to catch up to her. “How was your trip Erebor? Did you have fun?”

“I always do. How are you?”

Sigrid scrutinized her older sister. The _Elleth_ looked well rested, and wonderfully relaxed. “You seem… lighter.”

“Oh?” Tauriel’s mouth lifted. “Was I getting fat?”

“No; you just look happier.” A thought occurred to her. “Aren’t the Vanguard due to return from the patrol today?” Sigrid said mischievously.

“I would not know.” The Elf gave her a sidelong glance.

“Sure, you do.” She nudged her sister. “Just for the record, we all like him. _Ada_ likes him, too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” Sigrid held up her hands. 

Tauriel changed the subject, and spoke of her visit. Sigrid told her of Feren and Glélindë’s new son, and the redhead was thrilled. When they finally approached the Castle at top of the City, they spied a group on horseback up ahead, turning into the Courtyard.

Legolas and the Elves from Rivendell were riding to the Castle. 

“Legolas!” Sigrid shouted and waved.

At the head of the company, the Elven Prince turned to face them, but did not return the greeting. His mouth was compressed into a thin, grim line. He gave them a quick nod and turned to face the Castle steps.

“Wha—” Sigrid began, but stopped when her sister grabbed her arm. A strangled cry escaped from Tauriel’s throat.

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

But as soon as she said it, she saw it. 

Legolas was astride _Alagos_, but on the other side, he was leading _Mistanâr,_ Lieutenant Vildan’s beloved silver mare whose belly was heavy with the filly growing inside her, who came from a long line of _Mearas _brought to Middle Earth from Valinor. 

She was Vildan’s pride and joy. 

She was also without a rider.

“Oh, no…” Sigrid’s hands flew to her mouth.

Tauriel broke out into a run, racing to the Castle Steps, just as _Ada_ come out to meet them, bearing the same serious expression as Legolas. He spotted the frantic _Elleth_ racing toward him, shouted her name and opened his arms to catch her.

* * *

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ai, Hervenn cand nîn_ – Oh, my brave husband

_Den ichíren!_ – I found a boat!

_Suil, Tur!_ – Hello, Tur!

_Naeg! _– Ow!

_Ai, gorgor…_ \- Oh, no…

**NOTES:**

[1] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 18: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/25779882>

[2] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 8: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/49994144>

[3] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 25: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/26526516>

[4] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 40: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/47988304>

[5] _Broken Wings,_ Ch. 32: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/56929729>

[6] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 6: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/49342766>

[7] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 42: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/48543257>


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, what in the world is going on in that Courtyard, and why is Mistanâr without her rider?
> 
> Let's find out.

_“If you leave me now, you'll take away the biggest part of me_

_No baby please don't go_

_And if you leave me now, you'll take away the very heart of me_

_No baby please don't go, no I just want you to stay…”_

_ By** Peter Cetera, Chicago** _

**Erebor, 7th of August 2945 T.A.**

Tauriel loved her life now. Thanks to her friends in the Lonely Mountain and the memories they’ve been kind enough to share, the acute pain and longing she had once suffered at Kili’s death had settled into an occasional pang.

She had spent the last week in her apartment at Erebor, with its high marbled ceilings, comfortable furniture (made especially for her) and there was even a window and a door opening into a small balcony facing Dale. Always an early riser, she enjoyed stepping out into the fresh air and watching the sun rise with a cup of the steaming hot _kafhfant, _the Dwarves enjoyed. It was strong and bitter, but when watered down a bit, Tauriel liked that jolt of flavor on her tongue, as she surveyed the green crops of Hope Field and appreciated the silhouette of The City of Bells. The immense dome of the Great Hall stood watch over the red clay roofs that staggered down through winding cobbled streets. Next to it was the outline of Bard’s Castle where she lived, loved and laughed with her family. 

Her family. For the first time in her life, she truly felt like she belonged. Even better, Legolas had returned to the family, and they were back to the comfortable friendship as brother and sister.

She had a wonderful holiday with the Dwarves. She went hunting with some of the Original Company, had dinner with the Royal Family a couple of times, and even learned how to make some simple jewelry at the forges: the bangle bracelets for her sisters were plain silver, but they were smooth and even, unlike her wobbly first attempts. 

Who would have thought that a city inside a mountain could be so alive? She was an Elf, and a Silvan, at that; trees and flowers and plants were a part of her and always would be, but here among the Dwarves who held her in such high esteem (though she doubted she deserved it) she learned a great deal about friendship, about loyalty, and about herself.

Tauriel’s heart swelled with a quiet contentment. She didn’t miss the dark dank forest of the Woodland Realm, though she had to admit she missed the exciting pace of chasing down and destroying its many dangers. Guarding her younger siblings, mostly Bain was not a strain at all, though she understood the burden of protecting Dale’s Heir Apparent. She learned to make up for the lack of excitement with strenuous exercise and constant practice to keep her skills as sharp as they ever were.

Princess Vís had become a friend and confidant over those quiet drinks in the evenings in front of her fireplace. The Dwarrow spoke of the universal joys and travails of marriage and motherhood, and Tauriel spoke of family life with her new siblings, her close relationship with _Ada_ and Bard, and…

…her friendship with Lieutenant Vildan, of the Rivendell Vanguard. 

“He is amusing company,” Tauriel shrugged as she took another sip of wine.

“’Amusing?’” Vís tilted her head. “Just ‘amusing?’”

Tauriel drew her brows together. “Do not make more of our friendship than it really is.”

“I would,” Vís smirked, “except you keep bringing him up. Why is that, I wonder?”

Her spine stiffened as she tossed her head. “I only mean to say he has a wonderful sense of humor.”

“I’m sure he does, though, according to my younger sister who was swooning for weeks after those Elves visited the Mountain.” Vís rolled her eyes. “Frankly I prefer my men a bit meatier with nice long beards, but to each his own, as they say.” The Dwarrow’s smile was kind. “Have you heard from Dís lately?”

Tauriel took another sip. “Just last month. She and Dwalin are very happy.”

“Aye, that’s what Da says. Dwalin is having the time of his life, whipping things into shape.” Vís snorted. “Mind you, I doubt those poor Dwarves are enjoying themselves; he’s running them ragged practicing drills night and day.”

“Dwalin enjoyed making Bard nervous,” the _Elleth_ grinned. “He especially liked to growl.”

Vís threw back her head with a laugh, and the beads in her beard chinked together. “Don’t I know it! But deep down he’s nothing but an old softie. You should have seen him when I had my last bairn! I wasn’t doing too good, remember, and your Elf friend come to see if he could help?” 1

“You must mean Daeron? He is very skilled.”

“Well, it was also the first Bairn born in the Lonely Mountain in a couple hundred years! But the minute that big, gruff beast of a dwarf laid eyes on her…”

“He was always kind to Bard’s children. When they were kidnapped,” Tauriel shuddered slightly, “_Ada_ told me how he made those Men talk. I cannot say I would not do the same, but he wept when they were returned safe. He did not think anyone noticed, but he did.”

Dís gave the _Elleth_ a knowing glance. “You’re changing the subject.”

“I am?” Tauriel shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Don’t look at me like that. You really like this Vildan, don’t you?”

“I…” Tauriel pursed her lips, but the Dwarrow just stared until she nodded her head. “I think I do. I found him annoying at first. I thought he sought my friendship because I was part of the Royal Family, but that is not so. In fact,” Tauriel made a face, “my stallion and his mare are expecting this October.”

“That says a lot; you adore that big beastie, and from sounds of it, the Lieutenant cherishes that mare over just about everything. What made you two decide to breed them?”

“Oh, it was not my idea; it just…happened.”

Vís, lifted her eyebrows. “Maybe your animals are trying to tell you something.”

“Stop teasing,” Tauriel laughed softly. “He had pestered me for months to a challenge with fighting knives. My family joined in, and we held the match a few weeks ago.”

“And?”

Tauriel’s mouth curved up slightly. “I won. I had to, to keep him from claiming his prize.”

Vís reached for the whiskey and poured herself another dram before settling back into her seat. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what it was?”

“He was going to ask for a lock of my hair.”

“I see,” the Dwarrow crossed her ankles and leaned forward. “And what was your prize?”

“Vildan told me if I won, he would give me a lock of his own,” Tauriel jutted her chin. “But I had to ask for it.”

“Well? Did you?”

She ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass with a mischievous smile. “I did not.”

“But why?” Vís’s eyes bulged. “And tell me the truth, this time.”

Tauriel just shrugged again. “I… I do not know?”

“Oh, my dear lass,” the Dwarrow smiled. “Yes, you do. You are fond of him. You may even be falling in love with him.”

“No!” Tauriel’s head flew up and she met Vís’s eyes. “I… That cannot be! Kili—"

“Look, if you’re worried that we will think you’re being disloyal to Kili’s memory, don’t be. Even Dís wants you to get on with your life; she said as much to my Mam before she left. You know he would want you to be happy, so don’t be using Kili as an excuse for staying in this rut.” Vís’s heavy brows furrowed. “Does this lad feel the same about you?”

“Perhaps. He could, but…” Tauriel wrung her hands, and finally admitted, “I think he does.”

“Has he said anything?”

“Not exactly. It is… the way he looks at me. I feel… unsettled and mixed up and…” Tauriel waved her fingers in the air.

“And you like it, don’t you?”

The Elf nodded.

“All right then,” Vís put down her glass and got to her feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Something _you_ should have done weeks ago,” the Dwarrow bent to burrow in her knitting bag and pulled out a small pair of scissors, a ball of blue wool, and carried them behind Tauriel’s chair

“Vís! You cannot—”

“Hold still, or I’m liable to cut your neck.” 

“But—”

“Shush, you!” The Dwarrow lifted the back of her long, red hair, and there was a sudden firm tug on her scalp.

Vís went back to her seat, and deftly braided the ginger length in an attractive pattern and pulled a bead from her own beard to fasten the edges. She held it up triumphantly. “There we are! It’s long enough to make a necklace for your lad.”

Tauriel reached for it and turned it over in her hands. “It’s beautiful!” She swallowed. “But he did not win.”

“Maybe,” Vís buried her smile in her glass, “you should give it to him, anyway.”

After a long, thoughtful pause, Tauriel murmured, “Maybe I should.”

“Now, _that’s_ Tauriel we all know and love.” Vís’s head tilted back with chuckle. “Cowardice looks terrible on you.”

Tauriel scowled and tossed a pillow at her.

**City of Dale, 9th of August 2945 T.A.**

Tauriel rode through the North Gates, with a lighter heart. The time in Erebor had done her good, as it always did. _Lasbelin_ was Chomping at the bit, eager to get back to his mate. It took some doing to keep him from breaking out in a dead run.

“Easy, _Mellon_,” she laughed. “Your lady love and Vildan have been patrolling with Legolas, remember?”

The stallion tossed his great head and neighed with impatience. “I know,” she patted his neck, then leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Can you keep a secret? I am eager to see them, too.”

Once she settled _Lasbelin_ in the Royal Stables with a fresh bed of straw and plenty of water, she made her way through the streets and upward to the huge Red Dome at the top of the City.

“Tauriel!” a familiar voice called. It was Sigrid, just coming out of the Healing Hall. “How was Erebor? Did you have fun?”

“I always do. How are you?”

“You seem… lighter.” Sigrid eyed her curiously.

“Oh? Was I getting fat?”

“You know what I mean,” Sigrid jabbed her side. “Aren’t the Vanguard due to come back today?”

Her sister teased her for a bit, even going as far as to say how much the family likes Vildan, but Tauriel remained stoic. “I am sure I have no idea what you speak of.”

“Sure, you do,” Sigrid grinned. “By the way, I have some other news. I’m just on my way to tell _Ada_.”

“What is it?”

“Feren and ‘Lindë had their baby a few hours ago!” 

“That is wonderful news!” Tauriel’s jaw dropped and she grabbed her sister by the arm. “How are they?”

“Everyone is fine, he is a nice big _Ellon_ like his Da, with his Mam’s pretty hair. _Ada_ will be thrilled.”

“We had better hurry; _Ada_ will want to visit soon.”

They chatted gaily about her trip to the Mountain, and Sigrid’s studies until they turned the corner to approach the Courtyard entrance.

The Vanguard was already here, led by Legolas on _Alagos_.

“That’s funny; I didn’t hear the bells ring at the South Gate…” Tauriel said.

“Neither did I, but Glélindë was making a lot of noise…” Sigrid said, then waved. “Hi, Legolas!”

Tauriel opened her mouth to call out, but stopped. Captain Rahlen rode behind Legolas, beside Elrohir. All had somber, grievous expressions. _Mistanâr’s_ dark tail could be seen beyond _Alagos_ and Legolas, but her head was drooping.

Legolas turned at the sound of Sigrid’s voice, and flinched when he saw Tauriel. He quickly regained his composure and gave them a small nod as they headed toward the Castle steps.

Where was Vildan? _Ai, gorgor,_ where was Vildan?

“Tauriel—” Sigrid reached for her.

But she left her sister behind. Tauriel’s legs pistoned toward the wide steps to Bard’s Castle, running as if her life depended on it. It was in this moment, with her heart in her throat and her hair flying behind her that she finally understood the truth of it. Somehow, the kind, funny, brave young Vanguard had laid claim to her heart. There had been no _Ehtë Raumo, _no single bolt of lightning to say Vildan was her One. 

But he was. Just as Kili was.

But she never had the chance with Kili…

A terrible cry of anguish chilled her to the bones, and only after did she realize it came from her own mouth.

The doors to the Castle opened. Ivran, Cwën and the Elvenking stepped onto the dais. _Ada_’s eyes widened at the sight of her, his face full of concern.

“Tauriel!” he shouted, and opened his arms to meet her.

_“Û!” _she sobbed and grew hysterical. “I cannot be! I cannot lose him too! Not again! _Û_ _naergon!” _she screamed. “Tell me it did not happen again! Please, no!”

_Ada_ had hold of her arms and spoke to her sharply, but she could not hear over the rushing in her ears. She saw a glimpse of Legolas’s frightened face as he approached. Sigrid was somewhere nearby sobbing, asking questions, demanding answers. _Ada_’s deep baritone voice rumbled, but she squeezed her eyes tight and tried to block out the noise. Tauriel’s vision blurred as the world began to spin, then grew dim.

Her last conscious thought was of the strong steady arms that picked her up before she fell. 

***************

**The Woodland Realm, 3rd of August 2945 T.A. (Six days earlier)**

At the Palace, Galion was finishing up for the day in his study. He had been there for a week, and was looking forward to returning to his husband tomorrow. The Aide smiled quietly to himself as he contemplated their reunion, which was sure to be thorough and exciting. 

He was grateful that Legolas had done so well with his duties at the Palace, which allowed him to spend more time in Dale with Rôgon, but he was still required to make the trip now and then to go over some accounts and see to things. He also wanted to be here to support Legolas’s first tour in the Forest since his injury at the hands of Pallando last June. Granted, they would not be traveling too far from the Palace, but the Prince was chomping at the bit to get back to the life he’d been born to for centuries. Legolas and Captain Rahlen planned to take the Vanguard and check on a few Elven villages and one human settlement that Lord Thranduil liked to keep an eye on.

The biggest reason Galion was especially anxious to get back home was that he wanted to celebrate his first anniversary with Rôgon. The family remembers the pretty ceremony in the Castle Gardens (done mostly for little Tilda’s benefit) but he and Rôg often speak of the private candlelight ceremony between the two of them, then joining their bodies and their _fëas_ with such wonder that it brought them both to tears.

Galion chuckled to himself. Who would guess that between the two of them, Rôgon would be the crier?

Rôgon was the antithesis of everything Galion lived for, yet he adored his blacksmith, who taught him to relax, to laugh, to be reckless and spontaneous, and to find joy in small ordinary moments in their lives together. Has it really been only a year? Galion could scarcely recall his life before.

The Aide was interrupted in his musing by a knock on his door.

_“Neledho,”_ he called absently as he screwed the lid on his inkwell.

Lieutenant Elion entered with a salute. In his hand was a small piece of paper. “A bird just arrived from Rivendell, My Lord.”

“Rivendell?” The Aide reached for it.

_“Ma_, _Hîr nîn_.” Elion’s face lined wit concern. “A falcon with two escorts. It must be important. Shall I wait outside while you read it?”

“That is not necessary; stay, but be at ease.” The Guardian relaxed his shoulders and waited. Galion unfolded the message and moved his lips silently as he studied the graceful Tengwar script. His hand flew to his forehead and he closed his eyes. _“Amarth faeg…”_ he murmured softly.

“My Lord?”

The Aide shook himself, and pulled out a piece of rice paper, opened the bottle of ink and picked up his quill. He took a deep breath and wrote out his response. He turned it over and blotted the excess, then folded it carefully.

“Tell the falcon and his companions to take this to Prince Legolas, for his eyes only. He is on patrol with the Vanguard and they are to return to the Palace immediately.”

After the Guardian left, Galion leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. 

His anniversary celebration would have to be postponed. After a minute or two, he blew out a breath and prepared two messages to be sent to Dale: one for his husband, and a longer, sadder one to King Thranduil.

***************

**7th of August 2945 T.A.**

It took four days for the Vanguard unit to make it back to the Palace.

The horns announced the approach of the Elven Prince and his companions, and Galion and the Royal Council were waiting by the Main Doors to greet them.

_“Dhe suilanthon, Cund nîn,”_ Galion gave Legolas a formal salute. _“Trevaded and?”_

After ordering them to dismount, Legolas landed gracefully on his feet and returned the salute as he handed Alagos’s reins over to an attendant. He stepped in front of the Aide with worry in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“There has been some news from Imladris,” Galion said cryptically, and handed him the message. “You will want to relay this in private, I am sure.”

Legolas’s heart sank as he read the words. After swallowing several times, he took a deep breath and turned back to the Vanguard. “Captain Rahlen, Lieutenant Vildan, hand over your horses for the others to attend. Come with me.”

As they walked through the palace to the Royal Wing, Legolas whispered, “How does my father do this?”

“If you are asking if there is an easier way to be the bear this duty, I promise you, there is not.” Galion rested his hand upon his shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. “It is best to give him all the facts as we know it. He will need you and Rahlen to be strong for him, so keep yourself under control, but do be too stoic.”

With a nod and a growing sense of dread, Legolas reached the double doors to his and his father’s office. Once opened, he invited all to sit.

“My Lord,” Rahlen asked, his brows furrowed as he and Vildan exchanged worried glances. “What is wrong?”

Legolas made himself sit up straight and set his shoulders. “Four days ago, an urgent message from Lord Elrond arrived by the same birds that summoned us back to the Palace. I do not know how to tell you this, except to just let you read it.”

He handed the message over the desk, but when Rahlen reached for it, he said, “No; I am afraid it is for Vildan.”

“For me?” the Elf’s face went white, and his hand trembled as he lifted his hands to take it. A moment later, he cried out in despair and covered his face. Rahlen picked up the paper from his lap and read aloud:

> _Is my sad duty to report that Vildan’s sister Meássë and husband Narseg have been killed by Orcs during short trip with Lord Gildor Inglorion on 31st July. Their small daughter Melui is inconsolable, and we are concerned. Glorfindel leaving now with full escort to meet him and hasten his return. My deepest condolences on this tragic loss._
> 
> _Elrond Eärendillion, Lord of Imladris_

Vildan’s shoulder’s shook with silent sobs. Rahlen moved his chair closer and wrapped his arms around the Elf and murmured soft words of consolation, offering comfort though they all knew it was impossible.

Legolas’s own eyes blurred as he sat behind his desk, not sure what to do, what to say to make things easier for his friend. 

The Aide did not look much better, but he leaned toward the Prince and whispered. “Let us get the arrangements started for his return, shall we?”

The Vanguard Captain overheard their discussion and met their eyes. “He should not travel alone. One of the sons of Elrond will go with him.”

“I think that is wise,” Galion agreed.

“Thank you.” Vildan’s red, bleary eyes turned toward Legolas. “M-My Lord, I… am sure you know of my growing feelings toward your sister. I believe she returns my affections, though no words have been spoken between us.” His face crumpled and his tears began anew. “Please, help her understand that I would never abandon her for anything other than this. Ai, little Melui; she must feel so alone!” A fresh wave of grief swept over the young Elf and he began to cry again.

“I know, _Mellon_ _nîn_.” Legolas chest squeezed painfully at Vildan’s grief, not just over his family, but at the sudden loss of hopes for his future. “I will explain to Tauriel, and we will look after her.”

“Vildan?” Rahlen spoke gently. “_Mistanâr_ cannot travel over the Mountain Pass; she is too heavily pregnant. I am sorry, but she must stay.”

Though it seemed impossible for Vildan’s sorrow to deepen further, the poor Lieutenant collapsed against his Captain babbling words of anguish in Sindarin. There was nothing to be done except to send for Mistress Ivárë, who brought him some soothing herbs and recommend he be taken to one of the private suites to offer him some privacy. 

“He has just lost everything that is important to him,” Legolas whispered. “We all have seen how much he loves his horse, and I had suspected for some time that he and Tauriel had fallen in love.” He swallowed down the large lump in his throat. “Will he fade, do you think?”

“His love for Tauriel is new,” Galion observes.

“That means nothing. She and Kili barely spoke, but her grief over his murder kept her in despair for over a year. _Ai, Adannauth!” _Legolas cried. “How would she bear this loss, after losing Kili? Would it help to know he was alive, caring for his small niece? Or will that be worse?”

“Whatever happens, Pînig,” Galion put his arms around the Prince’s shoulders, “we will be there to help her bear it.”

***************

The next day, Vildan said a tearful goodbye to _Mistanâr_ in the stables, asking her to understand why he had to let her go. The mare tucked him into her neck and nickered softly as a single tear fell from her eye. The mare rubbed her cheek against his back, as he spoke, running his hand through her silky dark mane. 

Thranduil had sent a message, ordering that he be given the best in his private stables. Falarion, who ran the Royal Stables picked out a spirited chestnut stallion named _Hûrthenin, _who, as his name suggested was fierce but loyal. 

“He will take special care of you, _Mellon_ _nîn_,” Falarion told the Lieutenant, when he presented the tall horse to Vildan. “I put him in the box stall next to your mare, and she made sure he understands your sorrow.” The farrier placed a comforting hand on the Elf’s shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss. Safe travels.”

“Thank you,” Vildan managed to say, as he stroked the dark brown horse. There were no other markings such as a star, on his forehead, and his dark eyes were intelligent and kind.

When he returned to the Main Doors, Elladan was waiting on his dapple-grey gelding. He would accompany Vildan to the Golden Wood,

The rest of the Vanguard along with the Prince and his escort. Once the party to Rivendell was on its way, _Mistanâr_ would be taken to Dale.

Before he mounted _Hûrthenin, _Vildan pulled a thick letter out of his pocket. “_Mistanâr_ is Tauriel’s now, and so is her filly.” He handed the letter to Legolas, with a sad smile. “Please, give this to her and tell her…” he struggled for words.

The blonde Prince placed a hand on Vildan’s arm. “I know, my friend. I will tell her. We will write and let you know how Tauriel and the mare are doing, yes?”

“I would like that very much.” He hesitated. “If it is too difficult for Tauriel to write, please let her know I understand that, too. I will not write her if it will do her harm.”

Legolas pulled the Elf into an embrace. “I am so sorry, Vildan. Look after your little niece, and let her look after you. We may yet meet again.”

Vildan said nothing, but gave him a shaky salute before he put his foot in the stirrup and swung over and settled into _Hûrthenin’s _saddle, he rode away without looking back.

The image of a tiny Elfling came to mind, with a smile that melted his heart, with a laugh that tinkled like thousands of tiny bells, and the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen. Eyes like his sister. With silver hair, like his mother. Melui was utterly alone, but not for long. He would be her father, mother and anything she needed for the rest of her life.

He set his jaw and refused to let himself think of all he was leaving behind. He would not think about Tauriel, or the love he had only recently allowed himself to acknowledge. It would have been better if he had not, but there was nothing to be done about it. Tauriel, and anything that could have been was lost to him.

_Not now,_ he told himself. Later perhaps, when he was home, after he found a way to accept the empty spaces where Meássë and Narseg once dwelled.

If Vildan kept Melui’s face at the forefront of his mind, he could inhale, and exhale…

Think of the Little One, waiting for him. 

***************

**City of Dale, 9th of August 2945 T.A.**

Thranduil soaked the cloth in cool water and draped it over Tauriel’s forehead again. She had fainted on the Castle steps, so he caught her up and took her to her room on the second floor.

Bless Hilda and Bard for shooing the children away and keeping them downstairs. His _Gwinïg_ needed quiet just now. Quiet and as much privacy as he could provide.

_“Ada_?” Legolas silently closed the door behind him and pulled up another chair. “How is she?”

“I tried to tell her Vildan lives, but she became hysterical and did not hear me. I have kept her asleep, to let her body settle, though we cannot put off the inevitable.” He turned to his son. “How are you? Did you know the family?”

“I did,” the blonde Prince sighed. “Narseg and Meássë were a charming couple. They both worked with Erestor, though Narseg did his research in the field a great deal of the time. I suppose that was why they were with Lord Gildor. Vildan always doted in the child; he will be a loving parent, and raise her well.” Legolas stared down at his sister. “I am sure she and Vildan have fallen in love.”

“I am, as well. But for now, there is nothing to be done, but to offer what support we can.”

“To lose love in its infancy not once, but twice is beyond cruel.”

“Yet in this instance, hope remains,” Thranduil rubbed his son’s upper back. “All seems lost now, but we do not know what the future will bring, do we?”

“How?” Legolas’s lips pursed with impatience. “She is banned from our Kingdom for at least six more years! And her duties to the Royal Family of Dale are for her lifetime, are they not?”

“This is true,” Thranduil agreed. “But for now we must help her through her shock.”

The Elvenking leaned over and murmured some words in Quenya. Tauriel’s eyelashes fluttered, and her chest rose and fell with deep breaths.

“You must awake, my _Gwinïg_,” Thranduil said, as he stroked her cheek. “Open your eyes, _Hênig_.”

Her eyes opened and met his with surprise. “_Ada? _Wha—” Then memory filled her green eyes with pain. _“Ai...”_

“He is alive,” Thranduil held her face in his hands and said, “Vildan lives, do you understand me? He did not die, as I know you feared. Can you sit up for us?”

Tauriel pushed herself up to lean against the headboard. “He’s gone,” she murmured.

Legolas walked around the bed to take her other hand. “Yes. I am sorry.”

Thranduil’s tone was gentle. “There has been a tragedy in his family, Tauriel, and he needs to get to Rivendell to care for his small niece.”

Tauriel’s eyes bulged and she covered her mouth. “His sister? What happened?”

Legolas sat down on the bed facing her and told her everything. The attack, of Vildan’s deep grief, and the arrangements to get him to Imladris as quickly as possible.

“That is why we brought _Mistanâr_ to Dale, _Gwinïg_,” Thranduil took the cloth and wiped her eyes. “She is too ungainly in her condition to cross the _Hithaeglir.” _He nodded to his son, who pulled the letter from his pocket. “He has given the mare – and her foal – to you.”

“Vildan asked me to give you this.” Legolas handed it to her. 

With shaking hands, she broke the seal. When she unfolded the pages, something fell out into her lap. The sight of the object made Tauriel cry harder, and she clung to Thranduil as if her next breath depended upon it. Legolas looked stricken, but he sent him an approving nod. 

“It is well, _Ion nîn_. Let her cry it out; it will be good for her.” 

He felt her nod against his chest, and her breath caught. “I…” Inhale. Exhale. “I kn-know he did the right thing, _Ada_.” 

“Of course, he did, my _Gwinïg_.” Thranduil tucked a long lock of her hair behind her ear. He is a honorable Elf, and if he had abandoned that child, he would not be worthy of you, would he?”

“He told me how he feels about you,” Legolas squeezed her fingers. “He loves you, Tauriel, and I know you love him, too. I have to believe there is more for you both, though I don’t know how or when. Please, do not lose all hope.”

Thranduil gathered her to him and gently pulled the letter from her fingers. “We will put this in the box with your things from Dís, and you can read it when you are ready, yes? There is no hurry. Could we see what he left you inside the letter, _Ionneg vuin?”_

Tauriel wiped her eyes and held it up.

It was a lock of long brown hair.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Amarth faeg _– Evil Fate

_Dhe suilanthon, Cund nîn_ – I give you greetings, my Prince

_Ehtë Raumo_ (Q.) Lightning Bolt - (lit. “Storm Spear”) Sometimes, when an Elf first encounters his or her bond-mate, they can feel a powerful, emotional response, like lightning. 

_Hithaeglir - _Misty Mountains

_Hûrthenin_ – “Steadfast, fiery spirit” the stallion Lord Thranduil gave Vildan to return home.

_Ionneg vuin_ – my beloved daughter

_Trevaded and?_ – Did you have a long journey?

_Û – _It cannot be!

_Û_ _naergon!_ – Lament! It cannot be!

**NOTES:**

_Kafhfant _(Khuzdul) – coffee. I adapted it from info on this site: <https://thedwarrowscholar.tumblr.com/post/138099632134/first-off-your-work-is-incredible-and-its>

[1] _An Invincible Summer,_ Ch. 15: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/34254923>


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It. Is. Time. 
> 
> Turamarth has been in Lothlórien for a week now, and there are places to go, people to see… 
> 
> ...and one place in particular he must visit, though he’s dreading it. Thankfully, he won’t have to do it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter has been delayed. I have been a bit under the weather, but hopefully I am on the mend, so please don’t worry.
> 
> It doesn’t help that my laptop suddenly went on the fritz. I am posting this from my iPad, so there won’t be pics, and it’s difficult to edit. Pray that the Valar will wake my machine up soon!
> 
> Happy 4th of July to my American readers! Let’s all pray that next year things will be better, both health wise and politically. 
> 
> And PLEASE. Vote this November! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

_“To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.”  
― **Elizabeth Gilbert, **_ [ ** _Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage_ ** ](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/6924954)

**Lothlórien, 12th of September 2945 T.A.**

Turamarth had been back in Lothlórien for almost a week, and it was both easier and harder than he anticipated. Of course, seeing his beautiful Evvy rush to the front of the welcoming crowd warmed his heart and he could barely contain himself until he held her in his arms and found her soft, warm lips. Oh, how he’d missed her! 

Her health had been fully restored, and Lady Galadriel’s personal attention and guidance and helped her newly discovered self-confidence to deepen its roots and settle in for good. There were only tiny glimpses of the shy, unsure _Elleth_ he had met at Daeron’s wedding, for now Evvy knew who she was and genuinely liked herself. She met his eyes with a new, richer wisdom yet her smile was just as lovely, and her laugh still took his breath away.

Since the day he arrived, every spare minute he had was spent with her, either at her brother’s house or at the Lord’s and Lady’s beautiful _Talon_ at the top of _Caras Galadhon._

This morning, Turamarth awoke with a huge yawn, and after a few stretches he pushed himself up on his elbows. The sheer curtains at his window billowed in the soft, fresh breeze and the sun peeked through the waving leaves, and its rays sparkled like jewels over the blanket covering his legs. He ran his fingers through his russet hair and let it settle around his shoulders as he contemplated his new surroundings.

When Daeron spend his year in the Golden Wood, he occupied Rúmil’s room in the Marchwarden’s large home. [1] This time Rúmil’s soft breathing could be heard from his bed just across the hall, and it was Orophin who so generously offered the use of his chambers while he spent his exchange year in the North. 

The room was roughly the same size as the one he occupied in Daeron and Rhian’s house, but there the similarities ended. The walls, painted a soft, buttery yellow curved upwards into graceful peaks, adorned with graceful white carvings. The room was arranged to be a soothing, comfortable sanctuary, and for that Turamarth was grateful.

Another remarkable difference was the artwork which hung in their shared _Talon_ was nothing like Tur had ever seen.

“They are fascinating!” he exclaimed as he contemplated the large painting hanging above the couch in the sitting room. “My King is an accomplished artist, but I have never seen anything like this.” 

“And you will not. These are Orophin’s creations.”

Turamarth blinked in surprise. “Really?”

Rúmil smiled proudly. “Our Lord and Lady have several of King’s Thranduil’s paintings hanging in their home, and his gift for detail is astounding. Orophin’s art requires the observer to bring their own experiences into its interpretation. It means something different to everyone who sees it. This picture,” he gestured with his chin, “has special meaning us.” 

Tur stepped back and studied the work in its entirety. The bold strokes of color provided a perfect background for the leaves, bits of cloth, flowers and other small objects pasted there, and small flecks of contrasting paint provided a perfect accent. “It tells some sort of story, I think.”

“As it was meant to,” Rúmil said approvingly. 

Turamarth tilted his head. “Yes…” he said softly. “When I look at this, I think of a beautiful place in the Woodland Realm, where Daeron and I often played as children. There is the high waterfall,” he pointed to the folds of light grey gauze along one side. “In our place, the pool is smaller, but there was a bed of soft moss and flowers, where we would lie and let the sun dry our bodies as we listened to the song of the trees.” He sighed. “It was a beautiful place.”

“That is well, for this was inspired by the same sort of location.” Rúmil’s face grew thoughtful. “We lost our parents when I was very young, and we all had difficulty adjusting to our new circumstance. Haldir was instantly thrust into the role of Marchwarden and foster-father, Orophin was desolate over _Ada_’s murder, and angry that our _Naneth_ was not strong enough to stay, and I was just a small child who was confused and inconsolable.”

Tur turned toward his friend. “I am sorry for your loss, _Mellon_.”

Rúmil managed a small nod of thanks, then continued. “Poor Haldir had the worst of it, I am afraid. He threw himself into his new responsibilities until he exhausted himself, and could hardly eat or sleep. After a month, Lord Celeborn had seen enough, and forced him to take a sabbatical for two years, which gave us all time to adjust.

“Lady Galadriel arranged for us to stay at a cottage near our Southern borders, a few miles away from a place much like you remember so fondly.” The Warden’s eyes held a faraway look. “Orophin and I, despite our sadness, were excited and distracted with these new surroundings, but poor Haldir…” his smile was sad. “We knew and loved our older brother, but you must understand that before our parents left us, we hardly saw Haldir. He was much older, lived in his own _flet,_ and spent most of his time either on patrol or with his own friends. After we lost our parents, we thought Haldir resented being saddled with us. He was grim and stoic, and this only served to feed Orophin’s anger. He was especially close to our mother, and he felt abandoned.

“Every night, after he put me to bed, he left Orophin in charge and took long walks, and sometimes would not come back for several hours. One night, we decided to follow him, and that was when we first found this place,” he lifted his finger and lightly touched the bottom corner of the painting. “And it was there that my brother and I finally understood.”

“What do you mean?” Turamarth asked, his brows furrowed.

“We found Haldir that night,” Rúmil’s chest heaved with a sigh, “huddled in the moonlight, utterly heartbroken, his body wracked with sobs, praying to the Valar,” he quickly wiped the corner of his eye. “He had gone to that place, so the falling water drown the sounds of the grief he finally allowed himself to feel. And he was praying for us, Tur. All that time, we had thought he didn’t care, when the truth was, he was just as frightened and lost as we were.”

“What happened?” Turamarth asked quietly. “Did Haldir discover you?”

“Oh, yes. We ran to him and together we cried and held each other for most of that night until we fell asleep. After that, we went to the waterfall almost every day to swim and picnic and even to cry. Rúmil’s gaze swept the painting again. “Orophin made this and gave it to Haldir for Yule one year, and when he feels troubled for one reason or another, I find him standing here, lost in memories.”

“The Valar answered Haldir’s prayer,” Tur rubbed Rúmil’s shoulder. “They sent you and Orophin there that night.”

“They did, indeed. Sometimes I see it and think of loss and the tears we shed. Other times, I think of laughter and birdsong and how Haldir taught me how to swim in that pool. And other times, I can feel the warm sun on my shoulders…” 

“Have you ever gone back?”

“Oh, yes! Haldir bought the cottage and hired a caretake to look after the house and gardens. The three of us try to go each summer. I do not know about my brothers, but I feel closer to my parents there.” his mouth pursed into a thin line and a shadow fell across his features. “After we were attacked last year and you left for home, Haldir and Orophin took me there, to heal.”

Turamarth’s stomach roiled, not only by the memory of that terrible time, but in shame. “Rúmil, I am sorry—”

“No, _Mellon_ _nîn,” _the Elf’s grey eyes met his green ones in earnest. “You have nothing to apologize for. It was a terrible, confusing time, and you were badly hurt—”

“And so were you!” Tur grasped his upper arms. “I was so lost in my own suffering that it never occurred to me that you were suffering, as well. Was it… bad?”

“Bad enough,” Rúmil shuddered. “But it is over now.” He turned to face him with a tentative expression. “Will you… will you come with me to the cave? I have not been back there, but I think I need to see it. Haldir and Orophin have offered to accompany me, but,” his grey eyes lifted to meet his gaze, “I doubt there are words adequate enough to explain what it was like, and I fear the struggle to make my brothers understand would only make it worse.” Warden’s voice cracked, as he said, “They empathize, of course, and they love me, but they could never grasp the horrors of it!”

“But why would you want to do that?” Turamarth’s throat clenched. “I do not—”

“Yes, you do, Tur!” Rúmil was vehement. “Did you not explain to me your feelings for the Forests of the Woodland Realm? That despite the sickness and the darkness, you recall its former beauty and you refused to let go of the hope that one day it will be restored, yes?”

“I do.”

“And why do you do this? Because it is your _home. _You told me once that to give up on your home was almost the same thing has _giving in_ to the Dark forces that threatened it. I love the Golden Wood, and I…” Rúmil took a breath and gritted his teeth, “I cannot, _I will not,_ let Pallando take even an inch of it from me!”

Rúmil’s eyes narrowed as he studied his friend. “I know you came to court Evranin, but that was not the only reason. Be honest; did you not also come to face down your memories as well?”

“Yes,” Turamarth answered in a low voice. “It is. I had thought I might wait a while, but it is better to get things over with.”

“It is, _Mellon_,” Rúmil sighed in relief. “Together will we not just face them; we will _conquer _them.”

They breakfasted and made their way to the stables, where _Sandastan_ was grazing in the pasture. He was happy to see his master and greeted him with a lusty neigh, when Tur approached with his saddle and bridle.

“How do you like it here?” Tur rubbed his snout and tugged at his forelock playfully. “Have you made some new friends yet?” 

Rúmil carried his own saddle to a dark mare with a thick white stripe down her nose. The light tan stallion bobbed his great head up and down and stomped his feet at the Guardian.

“Now,” Tur skewered his equine friend with a stern look, “just because your friend _Lasbelin_ found love with Vildan’s mare, does not give you permission to take liberties here.” [2]

_Sandastan_ rolled his huge brown eyes and tossed his head and whinnied. 

“I mean it,” Tur wagged his finger. “She probably does not even like—” 

The brown mare quickly trotted over to them, followed by a frustrated Rúmil laden with her tack.

_“Ai, Gildin! __Tolo hí! Tolo hí, penig channas lobor!” _the Warden cursed. “Tur! What did you do to her?”

The Guardian did his best to look innocent as he prepared to ride. _Sandastan_, however didn’t even try to hide his amusement.

By silent agreement, they kept the conversation light, as they made their way North of the city weaving around the immense trees and smiling at the small animals who scurried around them.

“I believe your stallion is enamored with my mare,” Rúmil said with a growl. “Do you have something you want to tell me?”

“No more than your mare is with my stallion,” he replied coolly. “As long as she has been placed under a _Nuitha-luith, _I would not worry too much. Rúmil?”

“Yes?”

“Did Vildan stop here on his way to Rivendell?”

The Warden’s face grew grim. “Glorfindel met them at the Anduin, and despite his objections, he and Elladan brought him here to see Galadriel. She offered what aide she could, and Lord Celeborn made sure their escort had plenty of supplies.”

“I am sure he did not want to delay, even for a little while, but he looked terrible when he left Dale. I was hoping the Lady would help him.”

“She did. They received word that their party arrived in Imladris two days ago. The child had been brought to stay with Lord Elrond while she awaited her Uncle.”

“Vildan spoke of his sister and her family often, and was always looking for toys and trinkets to send to his little niece.” Turamarth sighed. “And, like Haldir, he finds himself thrust into the role of parent. I have not known the Lieutenant long, but I have no doubt he will do his best by her.”

“Just as you would do if young Darryn became your child.”

“Of course, I would.” A pang of longing for the small, dark-haired boy filled his heart. “He will have changed a great deal by the time I come back,” he said quietly. “The children of Men do not dally in their youth for long.”

Rúmil sent him a wicked grin. “I heard what happened the day you took Evvy and Darryn to the park.” [3]

Tur’s eyed bulged in horror. “Who told you?” he demanded.

The Warden tossed his blond hair with a loud guffaw. “Nobody had to tell us, Tur! Who could miss you, running through the streets of Dale, with wet stains on your leggings and holding a screaming baby! You ran right past us and did not even notice!”

“I will have you know,” Turamarth sniffed, “that my nephew adores his ‘Unca Tur.’” Then he added. “And I adore him, every bit as much.”

“I know you do, _Mellon_.” Rúmil gave him a smile, which soon faded, as the clearing where the infamous cave approached. 

The Warden and the Guardian dismounted and left their horses to graze as the approached the last hundred yards on foot. 

And here it was.

The cave had been collapsed and destroyed by the Lady herself, lest any remnant of evil remain. She had come with Lord Elrond and Mithrandir several months after her recovery to cleanse the area, but the space where Pallando’s body was burned into dust remained bare. 

Speech failed both of them, as they stood and stared at the blackened ground for many minutes. 

Tur had no idea what had happened to Rúmil in those darkened hours, and right now he could not concern himself with it. The task before him was to confront his own burdens and do his best to throw them off.

And the memories came. 

A surge of anger rose in him suddenly, and his fingernails bit into his palms, causing them to bleed. So much had been ruined! So much death and destruction, and for what? The arrogance of one Maia, whose ego was such a vacuum that he took pleasure in stealing the goodness and light from innocents? 

Tur’s jaw clenched hard, his body grew tense, and tears of rage filled his eyes. His chest rose and fell as his lungs struggled for air. He needed to break something, to destroy something like his own fëa had been broken in half. A low rumble started in his gut, gaining power, and by the time it reached his mouth, it had become a loud scream. He threw back his head and let it go, not caring who heard him, because for a moment he was back there again in that dark void where there was no light, no hope, no love.

All that was left was a primal, predatory urge and he wanted to - no, he needed to – maim and destroy something or someone until it was just as dark as he was. 

But before the Black could claim him, a beautiful silver-haired Elleth appeared in his mind.

No, Guardian… Her soft, yet powerful voice pierced his heart. Do not fail at this last test.

Her eyes met his and he could not look away. She held his gaze as she approached and placed her hand on his chest and pushed hard, driving the pendant which held the Gîl-Naur into his skin, and the pain of it broke down the walls of wrath and rage that threatened to hold him prisoner.

_No. Not this time, and never again._

The yellow light of the Sun-Star which he bore pierced the darkness that had surrounded him, and Turamarth took several deep breaths, and once more with the sweet, clean air of the Golden Wood. He reached up to grasp Celebrian’s fingers and thank her, she faded from sight along with the darkness, leaving only a last farewell in her beautiful voice:

_Be well, Guardian… _The words lingered in his mind and he let them sink in, hoping to imprint them on his _fëa_forever.

At last, Tur came back to himself. When he opened his eyes, he half-expected to see clouds, or wisps of… something, but the clearing was as quiet and peaceful as when they first came upon it. _It made sense,_ he thought. The only evil left is that which had dwelled in his heart.

He looked over at his friend—

Rúmil had collapsed on his knees, his face in his hands. 

_“Ai, gorgor!” _he cried. 

He dashed over to his friend, wrapped his arms around him. The Warden’s body was still and cold, but he was breathing. With one hand he grasped at his necklace and sent up an almost nonsensical prayer, hoping that at least the Valar would pay attention to his intentions. 

In a few minutes, Rúmil’s body heaved with a loud gasp, and once it began to relax. Turamarth ran back to _Sandastan_and after grabbing a waterskin, he wet his handkerchief and bathed the Warden’s face. 

“Rúmil?” he asked softly. “Can you hear me?”

The Warden suddenly opened his eyes and slumped against him with relief. “It _is_ you!” he hugged Turamarth, half laughing, half crying. “I did not imagine it!”

“What do you mean?”

The Warden wiped his hands across his face. “I think I was supposed to wait until you could come with me. I had planned to come several times, but something always stopped me. Now I know.” He closed his eyes again and let out a shaky breath. “I was… _there_, Tur. You know.”

“I do,” he nodded.

“I felt lost in it, and I was convinced for a moment I would remain forever. You were there, though I do not think you saw me.”

“I do not remember you,” Tur said carefully.

“No,” Rúmil’s neck bobbed as he swallowed hard. “You were fighting it, too and it almost overtook you, but there was a light…”. The Warden stared at the neckline of Turamarth’s tunic and saw the gold chain. He gently reached over and drew the pendant out. “It was this, Tur. This pulled you out of it, and then you were gone. I was terrified, thinking I’d be left behind, but this light came back for me, too.” Rúmil wiped his eyes again and looked up at the sun. “How long have we been here?”

“A few hours, I think,” Tur helped them both to stand and they turned to face the dark, naked patch of soil. “I do not feel anything anymore. Do you?”

Rúmil walked over to the soil, and before Tur could stop him, he crouched down and dug his fingers into the soil.

“No, _Mellon nîn!” _he cried in alarm, but the Warden stood and blew the dust into the wind.

“It is gone,” he said in a far-away voice, and turned back to Tur with a wide, serene smile, “I understand, now,” he said. “I think the Valar wanted you to bring _Gîl-Naur_ to this place and banish the last memory of that evil Blue Wizard forever.” He kicked the toe of his boot into the soil. “I will bring _Elanor_ this place,” he said with a smile. “They will turn their golden faces toward the sun, and chase away whatever Shadows that might come.”

“I will help, you.”

The next day, the two friends returned without fear, and did just that.

> (The flowers took root and spread, until the entire clearing was covered in bright, yellow flowers. Long after Pallando’s attack fell from living memory, children came here to pick the flowers and put them in their hair. They they ran and played among the yellow blossoms, as their laughter filled the air.
> 
> It is said that an Elf from the North called Turamarth (none other than the Great Captain of the Woodland Realm, whose of for his bravery during the Battle Under the Trees during War of the Ring, were the subject of song and story) performed a magic spell as he planted them. The legend says that anyone who kisses his or her intended for the first time with these flowers in their hair, will receive his Blessing.
> 
> It’s all nonsense, of course. Before Captain Turamarth sailed to the West he attempted to quell such rumors, but they fell on the deaf ears of hopeless romantics.
> 
> These days, only two people place know the true story, but they are ghosts.
> 
> Nuín and Nualë where also Guardians of the Woodland Realm, young in both their years and their marriage when they lost their lives here. There had been been great love between them, so much so that after Lord Námo kindly took them to the Halls of Mandos, he saw the wickedness that had been wrought in that clearing, he foresaw the day when Warden Rúmil and Captain Turamarth would return bring healing to the soil. 
> 
> It was said that Námo, in his great wisdom, allowed Núin and Nualë to come and go as they wished, to hold hands and shower their blessings over all who came to this place looking for love. [4])

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ai, Gildin! Tolo hí! Tolo hí, penig channas lobor!_ – Hey Gildin! Get over here, you stupid horse!

_Erbain nîn __– _My Fair One

_Gildin_ – “Silver Spark,” Rúmil’s dapple grey mare.

_Gîl-Naur_ – Sun-Star, the necklace given to Tur by Galadriel to bring him help.

_Nuitha-luith_ – Spell to prevent female animals from becoming pregnant. (lit. “to prevent from coming to completion-spell”)

**NOTES:**

[1] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 22: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/35171138>

[2] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 11: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/50766088>

[3] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 11: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/42259295>

[4] _Legolas, Ion nîn, Ch. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering of Núin and Nualë might sound slightly familiar, they were the Elves that Pallando killed on a whim the night Thranduil and the others confronted the Blue Wizard.
> 
> After they were released from the Halls of Mandos, they chose not to go to Valinor, but came back to dwell where their bodies were buried in each other’s arms.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turamarth and Rúmil continue to help each other confront their memories and mourn for their losses.
> 
> But one last and final test remains for our Guardian, and when a summons is sent from the Lady of Light, he knows...
> 
> It is time for him to tell Evvy everything.

_“Forever can never be long enough for me  
Feel like I've had long enough with you  
Forget the world now we won't let them see  
But there's one thing left to do_

_Now that the weight has lifted  
Love has surely shifted my way  
Marry me  
Today and every day  
Marry me…”_

_ By** Pat Monahan/Train** _

**Lothlórien, 13th of September 2945 T.A.**

Yesterday, after he and Rúmil returned to Caras Galadhon, a messenger met them in the stables with a message from the Lord and Lady that they were relieved of all duties for the next three days. 

“She knew where we were?” Tur asked. “Are we in trouble?”

“The Lady of Light knows everything that goes on in the Golden Wood,” Rúmil shrugged. “Most likely she wants us to rest.”

“I am not tired,” the Guardian protested, which was a lie. As soon as they finished climbing the winding staircase to their _Talon_, both Elves fell into bed and slept soundly for the next twelve hours.

With only good dreams, praise the Stars.

This morning, he sat up and stretched with a satisfaction he had not had since before his attack. _I had forgotten how good this could feel,_ he smiled to himself.

Turamarth liked to drink his morning tea on the balcony of the home he shared with Haldir and Rúmil, which was built to offer breathtaking views of Caras Galadhon. He sipped the hot beverage as he watched the Galadhrim begin their day as they traversed the high walkways or gracefully descended the many steps to go about their business on the Forest Floor.

“Good morning,” Rúmil’s voice behind him was rough, as he joined him with his own cup. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in a long time. And you?”

“It was wonderful, and I wish I had more of it.”

“Why do you not go back to bed for a few hours?” Tur suggested. 

“Because I am used to waking up early,” the Warden grouched, as he ran his hands over his face. “I want to return and plant those flowers, and erase any memory of that… _Ulunn!”_

Turamarth tipped his head back and laughed. “And I will go with you. It feels strange to laugh at this, but I will not deny it is a good feeling.”

Rúmil chuckled, then became serious. “It is a blessing I never thought possible.” He clapped his free hand on the Guardian’s shoulder. “After we take care of that chore, I will ask you yet another favor, if you are willing.”

The Warden and the Guardian took several carefully-packed sacks of the cheerful Elanor seedlings to the Clearing. They said nothing as they knelt and quickly worked some fertile soil from one of Lady Galadriel’s gardens into the bare patch. Then they sang the Hymn of Elbereth as they tenderly placed the small yellow blooms into the newly-enriched soil and sprinkled water over them. Almost instantly, the flowers took root and went to work, bringing joy to the area above ground, and sent peace and healing through their roots under the ground. 

“I think this will be more than just a flowerbed, _Mellon_,” Rúmil murmured. “Something special is happening.”

“That is as it should be, do you not think? Would that these plants grew in the Woodland Realm,” Tur said wistfully as he stood over their work. “They would bring comforting dreams to all the sleeping trees.” 1

“Your home will not sleep for much longer, I think,” Rúmil’s eyes had a faraway look. “King Thranduil’s visions are much the same as the Lady’s. For good or for ill, Middle Earth and its fate will be decided within the next hundred years, I think. In the meantime, we will work diligently to give those who must remain as much hope as we can, yes?”

“We will,” Turamarth promised. “Come; another task awaits us.”

***************

They stood before a large boulder placed in commemoration for those who had been killed by Pallando. Before it were three gravestones; two single mounds on the left marked the final resting places of Meldon and Gelmir both Wardens of the Galadhrim, and the right was a single, larger grave for Núin and Nualë, Guardians of the Woodland Realm who lost their lives that terrible day.

"I am ashamed to admit I have avoided this place, until now,” Rúmil sighed. “My brothers offered to bring me countless times, but I could not face it, until now.”

“I do not wonder at that, _Mellon_ _nîn_,” Tur told him in a soft tone. “You carried a burden few could understand. And I know you carried deep guilt for my sufferings.”

“I did,” Rúmil conceded sadly. “I still feel responsible, and not just for you.” His chest tightened as he stared at the Tengwar script etched into the gravestones of Meldon and Gelmir. “I was selfish, Tur. I struggled with nightmares for a long time, and I feared coming here would make them worse.” The _Ellon’s_ eyes shone with unshed tears. “But that is no excuse; they were my friends, and I should have—”

The Guardian stepped closer and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “It was more than guilt, Rúmil, at least for me. They,” he indicated the graves before them, “did not survive, and though our friends and families count _us_ fortunate, I sometimes resented the fact that I did not die with them.”

“I know,” Rúmil shook his head. “I envied them. Sometimes I still do,” he quickly wiped the heel of his hands across his eyes. “There were times I was angry with them, too,” he turned to the Guardian, whose own eyes were filled with understanding and pain. “I know how that sounds, but—"

“It makes sense, _Mellon_.” Tur’s voice was rough, and a tear rolled down his face unchecked, and dropped off his chin. “I felt the same way when Daeron told me Núin and Nualë had been killed. 2 Their labors are over, Rúmil. They have gone on to the Halls of Mandos in peace, to contemplate their lives, then on to Valinor, where there is only joy. I am ashamed of it, now, but sometimes I hated them for turning their backs on me, leaving me to such horror and grief!” 

Tur’s words pierced Rúmil’s heart, and he rubbed his friend’s upper back. “Do you think they would understand?”

The Guardian needed a moment to get himself under control, but he nodded. “I think they do. And they would want us to go on and find happiness, until we meet again.” Turamarth held up a bouquet of flowers. “These also grow in the Woodland Realm, so I think it right to bring a bit of home to them.” He reverently placed a bouquet of wildflowers on the couple’s grave. “Núin and Nualë loved each other very much, and I am glad King Thranduil had them buried in each other’s arms.”

The Warden said nothing, but took the two golden Mallorn blossoms he had brought and gently laid them on Meldon’s and Gelmir’s graves. _“Govado i nothrim în ah i mellyn în mi Mannos, Mellyn nîn.” _

At last, the two friends were finally free to mourn their lost friends. They stood silent for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts, as the full realization of their losses washed over them. Rúmil had guided both Meldon and Gelmir in their military careers since the beginning, and it was he had sponsored them for their promotion to Warden. He had not only been their Commander; he had been their mentor and friend and it was only now that he could fully grasp the pain of their absence.

His mind was flooded with memories; many small moments full of easy smiles and laughter, countered by grim, determined faces as they took their posts along the borders of Lothlórien, ready to give their lives in service to the Lord and Lady.

And he wept. Beside him, Turamarth’s eyes were covered as he shed his own tears for Lieutenant Núin and his engaging, brave wife, Nualë.

They wept for a long time, but once their sorrow was washed away. They rode home, and spend the entire night cherishing and celebrating their lives by sharing anecdotes and recounting many adventures they had shared together. 

The sun was beginning to rise before the both of them finally sought their beds, but once again, their slumber was deep and peaceful.

***************

**14th of September 2945 T.A.**

By the time Tur finally opened his eyes, he was shocked to see it was past the eleventh hour.

“Why did you not wake me?” he asked Rúmil, when he entered the kitchen.

The Warden’s head was propped up on his fist as he stirred his tea absently. “I just woke up myself. How much did we drink last night?”

“As long as I do not touch Haldir’s wine, I will be fine,” he shuddered. “We were probably still tired from the last few days.”

“I cannot thank you enough for your help with all this, Tur.”

“There is no need for thanks. You helped me just as much.” He let out a weary sigh. “Did you ever hear the phrase, ‘The more I know, the less I understand?’ Just when I think I have finally put the last of this behind me, another set of steps appear to show me my journey is not at an end!”

_“’We do not know what we do not know.”_ Rúmil chuckled softly, as he shook his head. “Haldir says that all the time. 

“Exactly!” Tur’s eyes widened in recognition. “But I think it is more than that. Last December at the Palace, when Evvy and I declared for one another, I honestly thought I would return to the person I was before…” he shook his head sadly. “But our experiences change us, whether we like it or not.”

The Warden leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on one of the empty ones. “I confess know my friends and family miss the old me, but he is gone forever, and I must accept it, now.”

The _Ellyn _remained silent for several long minutes, until Rúmil said, softly. “I thought Haldir and Orophin mourned for me, and they have, but I only now understood that they mourned _with me,_ too. Especially Haldir. He knows what grief is, and it broke his heart to watch me go through it, without knowing how to help.” 3 It took a while for me to persuade him to return to duties this spring, and if he knew we were going to that clearing, he would have insisted upon coming.” 

“He is protective of you.”

”He is, and I do love him for it. I think that is why Lord Celeborn sent him to the fences so soon after your unit arrived. He and Lady Galadriel knew I needed to face this on my own.”

“But you were not on your own,” Tur smiled. “I was with you.”

“And for that,” Rúmil smirked, “I am more grateful than I can say. Still, would you want Daeron to come with you to that clearing? Or your parents?”

“No,” Tur exhaled. “As much as I needed my family’s support, I grew to hate leaning on them. You know, Rúmil. So does Legolas, and, I am sure Lady Galadriel herself, as she was also afflicted thus.”

“Can I ask you something?” Rúmil gave him a sidelong glance.

“Certainly,” he winked. “Unless it is something I do not want to tell you.”

“Very funny,” the Warden threw his napkin at him. “I am serious, though. Can you tell me who or what really helped get you through the worst of it?”

“You might be surprised to know that Rhian was my greatest ally.”

“Rhian?” The Warden’s face pinched in surprise. “But she is a child of Man! How can she understand _fëas_ or the nature of Elves?”

“She is married to and Elf, if you recall. And, Rhian understood the nature of my injuries better than anyone. Praise the Valar, for that, for it took me months to find the words to tell the story. When I finally broke down, she was accepting, and she knew what I needed to hear and helped me climb out of that dark place.”

“If you ever need to speak of it in her absence, _Mellon_,” Rúmil’s eyes clouded. “I would never betray a confidence; I hope you know this,”

“I know,” Tur gave him a grateful smile. “I will tell you, someday, but there is someone who needs to hear the truth before I speak to anyone else.” Turamarth bit his lip. “You know my reasons for coming to Lothlórien were not just to overcome the past.”

Rúmil nodded, but remained silent.

“I love Evvy, and want to propose to her, but before I do, I must share the nature of Pallando’s attack, and the consequences I had suffered. I must tell her soon, though I am afraid she may not… accept me.”

The Warden’s face contorted with shock and confusion, then he sat up straight and put his shoulders back. “Whatever is going on might seem insurmountable, but I have never known you to run away from a challenge. I have faith in you, and I have faith in Evvy.” Rúmil smiled and picked up the small, sealed paper off the other end of the table and handed it to him. “And speaking of faith, this came a few minutes ago. If you are correct, this is the sign you have been waiting for.”

Tur spied the Lady’s seal on the envelope and his name written in a graceful hand. His heart began pound, bruising the inside of his ribcage and his mouth suddenly went dry. _“Ai Belain, Nesto nín,” _he croaked. “I…”

“Well? Are you not going to open it?”

After taking a deep breath, the Guardian picked up the paper, broke the golden seal and opened it. His mouth opened and closed a few times.

“Tur, _Mellon_ _nîn_,” Rúmil’s face grew faint and his vision greyed around the edges, “you need to take a deep breath, because you look like you are about to faint.”

_“Ai…”_ he groaned.

The Warden let out a frustrated sigh, and peered over his shoulder to read aloud:

> _Guardian Turamarth Ómarion,_
> 
> _It is time._
> 
> _Your presence is requested in my Private Gardens at noon._
> 
> _Lady Galadriel_

_“‘It is time,’”_ Tur managed to repeat in a voice he barely recognized. 

“This is it!” the Warden slapped him on the back with a grin.

“What time is it, now?” Tur asked weakly.

“You have…” Rúmil got up to check the water clock in the Sitting Room. “Twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes.

_Twenty minutes!_

_“Ai gorgor!” _ Turamarth jumped to his feet so fast he knocked the teacups over, spilling the liquid over the table. _“Amarth faeg!”_ He cursed as he saved the note from being soaked, and he tucked it into his pocket before he grabbed a tea towel to mop up the mess.

“What are you doing?” Rúmil lunged for the towel and snatched it from him. “I will take care of that, you fool! We need to get you dressed and decent, first!” he grabbed Turamarth by the belt of his robe and dragged him back to his washroom.

“We were up so late drinking there was no time for a bath; we will have to settle for washing up. Get in there!” The Warden shoved him in the small room as he headed toward Tur’s closet.

But Tur was frozen to the spot, his fists clenched. The room began to spin, and the ground felt spongy…

“Breathe, I tell you!” the Warden commanded as he frantically threw a tunic and leggings on the bed. _“Ai, gorgor,_ what am I going to do with you?” he pushed Tur’s chest until he landed on the edge of the bed. “Fine, then. Just sit for a minute…” he ran into the washroom and returned with a couple of washcloths and smothered the Elf’s face with soapy lather.

“Naeg!” Tur sputtered as his eyes burned. “_That STINGS!” _

Rúmil was unsympathetic as he scrubbed. “You will not propose to someone as wonderful as Evvy looking like something the dog dragged in. Not on my watch! Now, breathe, curse you, or you will faint, before you even get there and I will be stuck carrying you!”

_“But I have soap up my nose!”_ Tur pushed the cloth back from his face and let out a series of sneezes. 

“Serves you right. Shut up or I’ll drown you.” He slapped a soaking wet towel over his face.  
“Rinse off the soap.”

“Oooghffff,” Tur sputtered through the cloth and wiped away the lather as the Warden quickly applied the soapy cloth to Tur’s neck and hands. He checked the Guardians fingers, where there were still remnants of dirt under his nails from gardening yesterday. He tsked several times as he grabbed a small file from Tur’s dresser and cleaned them. “You should have done this last night.”

“How was I supposed to know today would be _the day?”_ The blood drained from the Guardian’s face again, and he felt cold. “Oh, Rúmil… it is today…” A wave of nausea made the room spin again.

“Oh, no you do not,” the Warden refused to give him time to get nervous. He yanked off his robe and before Tur could stop him, Rúmil had lifted his arms, cleaned underneath his armpits, and was pulling at the lacings of his smalls.

“Hey!” Tur squeaked. “What do you think you are doing?”

Rúmil scowled and placed his hands on his hips. “Oh, so you are going to see Evvy dressed in your dirty underclothes?”

“Of course not! And the note did not say Evvy would be there!”

“Oh, please, _Pen-channas! _We both know what this is about, and I am not going to let you ruin this chance! So, finish washing and while I make sure your boots are polished.”

“They _are_ polished!” he called. “Daeron is the slob, not me!”

But his words fell on deaf ears, as his best boots flew through the air, missing Turamarth’s head by an inch, followed by a rolled up pair of clean socks.

“What are you trying to do? Kill me?”

“You are an Elf, and a Guardian. You know how to duck.” Rúmil grabbed a towel and he helped him dry off and get into his outfit. Tur managed to lace up his own smalls and leggings, thank you very much, and kept silent as his friend hauled him to his feet and inspected him.

“This is just what Rhian would do,” Turamarth told his friend through pursed lips.

“It is a comfort to know I am doing this right. Now… Hmmm…” Rúmil circled him, plucked something off his tunic and tugged down the hem on his left side, then stepped back to examine his handiwork. “Aha!”

”What does that mean?” Tur snapped, as Rúmil dashed from the room. He returned a few seconds later with a glass vial and, after pouring a few drops of fragrant liquid into his hands, smacked the Guardian about the face and neck.

”Stop that!” Tur jabbed him in the ribs to get him away, then wrinkled his nose. “What is that odor?”

”Oil of _Elanor, _with a hint of lemongrass. The _Ellyth_ love it.”

”Raich! Now you have me smelling like a female!”

The Warden threw him a disgusted look. “No, the Ellyth love to smell it _on_ _us_. Will you trust me? Now we need to do something with that hair…”

“But—"

The Warden ignored his whining as he dragged him in front of the mirror. He picked up the heavy bristle brush and roughly ran it through his waist-length locks, jerking Tur’s head sideways with each stroke.

“Easy!” he cried, grabbing his head.

“Now I know what Haldir and Orophin went through when I was small…” Rúmil rolled his eyes, but kept up the pace until Tur’s long mahogany locks shone, then fastened the top and sides of his hair into a lovely fishtail braid, fastened with a leather tie. “You will thank me for this later,” he grinned. “Evvy loves the color of your hair.”

Turamarth stopped his litany of curses long enough to say, “She does?”

“She told me while we traveled back to Lothlórien last Yule. It is one of her favorite things about you.”

“Oh…” In the mirror, a small smile tugged at his lips. 

“She likes a lot of things about you.” Rúmil smiled and set down the brush. He bent down and met the Guardian’s eyes in the mirror. “If what you have to say to her makes her reject you - which I very much doubt, by the way – she does not deserve to be your wife.”

“Of course, she does!” Tur started to protest. 

“No, _Mellon_ _nîn_. You are an Elf of the highest quality, and if she cannot see that, it is her loss.”

Turamarth’s eyes bore into his friend’s grey depths. “Do you really think so?”

“With all my heart,” Rúmil clasped his hand to his chest and fluttered his eyelashes. “Unfortunately, you are not _my_ type, which is _your loss.”_

Tur couldn’t help laughing, and the easing tension in his shoulders felt good. He smack his friend in the stomach with the back of his hand. “Hurry up and make me beautiful, then.”

“I think you should give Evvy credit for her faith, too. If nothing else, trust in Galadriel.” He came over and placed his hands on Turamarth’s shoulders. “If the Lady did not believe in the two of you, you would not be in Lothlórien at all.”

Hope sparked in Tur’s chest. “That...is true.”

“Trust me. It takes a thousand lifetimes to fully understand Galadriel’s power, but that much I do know!” Rúmil pulled Tur into a warm embrace and whispered in his ear. “You will go to Evvy and tell her everything. She will weep for you, then she will say yes.”

Tur hugged him back. “Thank you, Rúmil.”

Now hurry,” he grinned, “I will have three or four bottles of Haldir’s wine on ice, just in case. Whatever happens,” Rúmil told him, “you are not alone. Remember that.”  
  


Tur put on a brave smile, but before he descended the stairs of their _Talon, _the Guardian turned back to his friend. “Perhaps we were wrong.”

”About what?”

”We might never be the Elves we once were, but...” he smirked, “our hearts will not be as heavy as we feared.”

And with that, Turamarth Ómarion exited the _Talon_ and approached Galadriel’s garden.

***************

Evvy lifted the delicate china cup to her lips and took a sip her sweet tea. “I always enjoy having brunch out here with just the two of us.”

“I do, as well, but we will not be alone for long.” Galadriel set the teapot back on its rest and picked up a scone. “I have asked Tur to join us, and he will be here in a few minutes.”

Evranin’s cheeks flamed with pleasure. “I never would have imagined it he would come back here, but I am overjoyed that he came.” She gave the Lady a sidelong glance. “It was a nice surprise.”

Galadriel’s mouth widened and as she laughed, and the nearby blossoms rose an inch from the ground and turned their colorful petals toward her, as if to drink in the merriment.

“I will probably never get used to that,” Evvy shook her head in wonder. 

“These flowers have witnessed a great deal,” she gracefully waved her hand toward the nearby plinth which held a large, shallow bowl. “The Mirror of Galadriel brings both joy and sorrow, and the plants in this place offer comfort to those who look into its depths. To come here in my leisure to read, or to sing, or even to laugh repays their kindness.”

They finished their morning meal as Evranin enjoyed the enchanting relationship between the Lady of Light and her small, colorful friends. After the meal was cleared away, she was not given leave to go, and this made her a bit nervous.

Evvy bit her lower lip. “Do you need to show me something in Mirror?”

_“I_ will not,” the Lady smiled serenely, “but there is something you need to see, _Aewpîn_, but I am not the one who will show it to you.” 

Galadriel gathered her skirts and rose. She walked over to the pool, filled her pitcher, and carried it to the Mirror. She lifted it three times as she murmured softly in Quenya and once the basin was filled to her satisfaction, she touched the water slightly, with another prayer and stepped back.

“It is time, child,” she said. 

“Time for what?” A nervous flutter twisted in her stomach. 

The Lady came to her held her cheek. “It is time for you to give Tur your gift, if you can. Nothing worth having in this life comes easily, _Aewpîn_; the finest jewels cannot be made without strife, not can gold or silver be made pure without fire. The test will be difficult to endure, but take heart; you both have been given extraordinary gifts for just this purpose.” 4

Galadriel smiled, whispered some last-minute instructions into her ear, kissed her brow, and silently went up the stairs and left her alone at the table. 

“Evvy?”

She whipped her head around and there was her Turamarth, her Guardian, looking tall and strong in his dark green tunic and soft leather leggings, yet his face was lined with apprehension.

“Tur,” she smiled up at him and held out her hands. 

“I was supposed to meet the Lady Galadriel.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Will she be coming soon?”

“She has already left,” she motioned to the nearby chair. “It appears you must meet with me.” Evvy couldn’t help a smirk. “I hope you will find my company adequate?”

_“A, Erbain nîn,” _Turamarth leaned down and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. “Never think your powers are less than the Lady of Light, for you have bewitched me, body and soul.”

His beautiful turquoise eyes, so like the River Celebrant were full of love, yet there was fear in them, as well. “Tur?” she asked him softly. “Do you know why we are here?”

His face lost its color. “I do. He sat across from her and took her hands again. Evvy, this is the most important conversation you and I will ever have, even more than our talks of marriage.” He closed his eyes, licked his lips, and began:

“I love you, Evranin, daughter of Óhtar and Vériel. I have declared you to be my One, and to that I will always hold, no matter what happens after this day.”

“I do not understand,” she said, quietly, and she tried to pull her hands back, but he tightened his grip and kept them.

“I know, _Meleth nîn_, and there is no way you could, but it is time. I,” his turquoise eyes filled with tears. “I know you were hurt when you were kept away from me after the attack.”

“I was not even allowed to see you!” her breath hitched. “Daeron and Orlin tried to convince me that I was not to blame, but how could I think otherwise? I cared so much about you then, and I only wanted to bring you comfort!”

“I know,” he rested his forehead on her knuckles. “I know you will not believe me; how could you? But I promise, my afflictions were such that to be with you would make them worse. I love you, Evvy. You were my One, even then, and the evil Blue Wizard somehow saw that in me and used it to destroy me.” When he looked up into her eyes, they were filled with tears, and his voice was hardly recognizable. “It almost did destroy me, Evvy. Pallando’s vision made me want to die, to kill myself from the shame of it.”

Evvy pushed back her chair and fell to her knees before him. “Nothing could turn me away from you, Tur. I love you.”

He gave her a watery smile and gently pushed a lock of hair from her brow. “I have longed to hear those words from you, _Erbain nîn_. You are my One, and for as long as I live, be it in Middle Earth or in the afterlife, there will be no other. But before I ask your hand, you deserve to know what happened. Should I be fortunate enough to wed you, you will see for yourself at our joining, and might regret me. I owe you this chance to make your choice freely,” his voice crackled, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I… know I must say this, but now that we are here, the words… they will not pass my lips.”

Evranin sat back on her heels, and looked toward the Mirror of Galadriel. “I understand, now. Come.”

She scrambled to her feet, then pulled his hands up until he was standing tall beside her. “The Lady must have known what would happen. This was prepared for you.”

“I think it was prepared for _you,”_ Tur’s eyes closed with a shudder. “I already know what I will see, and I do not know if I can endure it again.” Suddenly he grasped her cheek and kissed her, long and hard. “Just in case,” he swallowed thickly.

“In case of what?”

“Evvy, after you see this, and you do not want me, I promise to understand, and I will never bother you again.” She gasped, and tried to protest, but he placed his fingers over her mouth. “I must also ask a promise from you, as well.”

Her eyes narrowed in trepidation. “What do you want?”

“I love you with all my heart, Evranin Óhtariel. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you, but only if your feelings are as deep and true as mine.

“_Erbain nîn_, you grew up with parents who married out of obligation, and you know how unhappy they were. I cannot live like that, but more important, I will not allow _you_ to relive that same lonely misery as your mother and father. Promise me your honesty, Evvy. If you want time to think things over, I understand. But promise me you will turn me away if there is any chance you feel differently about me.”

“Oh, Tur, you know—”

“Please!” his voice sharpened with intensity and fear. “Please! I am at the limits of my strength and I must have this from you.”

“I… I promise.”

She stepped up over to the plinth with him, and had to use the steps to reach the Mirror. According to Galadriel’s instructions, she spoke the proper words and blew softly across the water.

The reflection of the bright blue sky and the green leaves shimmered, then fell away, as the water grew darker…

…until all was blacker than the ink used to print the books she loved so much. But this Black was menacing, darker than the deepest wells of despair.

And there she was in the Mirror of Galadriel, dressed in a loose, white nightgown, screaming in terror and agony. It was the most horrifying thing she had ever seen. 

> _There was Tur, her beloved Guardian laughing as he ripped off her clothes and took her against her will, making her scream in physical and emotional agony, until her eyes rolled up in her head and her fëa left her body. It was Tur’s face that lusted not only for her body, but for his own power and satisfaction. _

Perhaps had she not held Nienna’s Tear, Evvy might have been lost in the terrible scene that unfolded before her. But she held on so tight the metal edges cut into the palm of her hand until blood seeped from her fist.

The pain of it brought her back to the present, and she grabbed the edge of the plinth to catch her breath. 

Slowly, slowly, bright, cheerful colors seeped into her vision and turned into flowers. The roar was only blood pounding in her ears slowed and all became silent, but for the wind rustling through the trees and a nearby bird sang.

Once again, she was standing in Galadriel’s Garden, her face soaked with tears, her throat painful from her cries.

With a shaky breath, she wiped her face. Her eyes swept around the Garden to find Turamarth--

But he was gone.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ai Belain, Nesto nín_ – O Valar, help me

_Adar _\- Father

_Govado i nothrim în ah i mellyn în mi Mannos, Mellyn nîn. –_ May you join your family and friends in the afterlife, my friends.

_Gîl-cýron_ \- Moon Star, Evvy’s necklace made by Nienna and the now-redeemed Saeros.

_Gîl-Naur_ – Sun-Star, the necklace given to Tur by Galadriel to bring him help.

_Ulunn –_ Hideous monster

_Tôrada_ – maternal uncle

**NOTES:**

[1] _What Makes a King_, Ch. 25: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/26526516>

[2] _Legolas,_ _Ion nîn_, Ch. 23: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088320/chapters/44196763>

[3] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 31: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/36538245>

[4] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 36: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/59177812>

[5] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 24: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53959351>

[6] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 25: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/54219163>


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So… what happened after Evvy found out? And where in the world did Turamarth go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my good pal Golden for the song lyrics!

_“There seems no justice when you fall in love  
It gives you blindness when you are the one  
The one that's hurtin' Cause they've got the gun  
There seems no justice when you fall in love_

_Save me Don't let me fall Heaven sent I heard the call  
Stop me _

_Don't let me go _

_Touch my heart _

_And let me know…”_

** _ “Heaven Sent”  _ ** _ by** Dokken** _

**Lothlórien, 14th of September 2945 T.A.**

It was the most cowardly act Turamarth had ever performed.

He fled the Lady’s Garden, and ran across the Forest Floor and into the trees. His legs carried him as fast as they could carry him, and when he finally slowed down and stopped, he was surprised at where he ended up.

He was back at that same clearing, panting to catch his breath as he stared down at the Flower bed and Rúmil had planted.

Why had he come here?

Tur breathed out a sob as he fell to the ground, clasped his hands behind his head and hunched over. A surge of guilt and shame swelled inside and crashed over him. His chest constricted painfully, and he couldn’t make his lungs work. As the shame subsided, it was replaced by homesickness. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to see his _Gwador_ or Rhian, or even Hannah. He tried to picture their faces, as they dispensed yet another gem of wisdom to get him through each day.

He shouldn’t have come here. This was a mistake. Evvy would see what he had done and shun him forever. 

He shouldn’t have come, and now his life was over.

“Calm yourself, Guardian,” a deep feminine voice commanded him. “Slow yourself down and take a breath.”

Without thinking, Turamarth did as he was told. He did it again, and again, until his vision cleared and the Elanor flowers smiled up at him as they basked in the sun.

“May I join you, Captain?”

The startled Guardian wiped his eyes. He wanted to gracefully jump to his feet, but his legs were shaky. Still, he managed to stand and formally salute.

“Of course, My Lady,” he bowed his head. “These are your lands; there is no need to ask.”

Galadriel’s dress floated in the slight breeze as her gaze swept the area. When her eyes fell to the mound of soil, and the flowers, a proud smile spread over her lovely features.

“You and Rúmil have been busy, I see,” she said approvingly. “It was right that you came here and reclaimed his spot. The Blue Wizard’s evil has no place in my realm.”

“I am glad you approve, My Lady,” Tur told her softly, “but to me, it was more than that.”

Her face tilted and her eyes narrowed slightly. “How so?”

He swallowed. “I think – for me, at least – it is a reminder.”

“Go on,” she encouraged.

“Never lose hope?” Even as the words fell from his lips, the hypocrisy of his words mocked him, and his eyes lowered. “It was a foolish, fanciful notion,” he murmured. “I see now I was only lying to myself to keep from facing the truth.”

Galadriel touched his chin with two long slender fingers and lifted his face. Her eyes, slightly darker than Lord Thranduil’s, held the light and wisdom of the Two Trees, power he could never fathom. She probed his mind and his _fëa_ with an ease that frightened him, yet somehow, he was sure she would not harm him. 

She _knew_. She _saw. Everything._

“You left Evranin in the Garden,” she said. “Why?”

Turamarth licked his lips nervously. “I am a coward, My Lady. I could not bear to witness her despair.” 

“There is more than fear, think,” she arched her eyebrow. “You also are angry with me.”

He had to admit, it was true, and the words escaped him before he could stop them. “Why did she have to see it like _that?”_ he cried. “I was going to tell her!”

“I believe you,” she said simply. “Why was it important to tell her everything, Captain?”

“Because she deserves to know everything before gives her life to me,” he blinked back tears. “She might not want to marry someone so… damaged.”

“Are you sure that is all?” she asked.

“I do not understand what you mean, My Lady. Of course, I do not want to keep anything from her, but it was cruel to force her to see it as if she was truly there…”

“Was there some part of you that was _hoping_ she would reject you?” 

Turamarth stepped back and blinked rapidly, but the Lady pressed on. “Are you not afraid to couple with her physically? If she turned you away, then you would never have to face that question, would you?” Galadriel gave him a sympathetic glance. “How many times have you been told that to bring your fears into the light will set you free?”

At this, Turamarth lost his temper completely. “What do you think I have been doing this past year?” he shouted, his arms spread wide. He clenched his teeth and paced in a small circle. “I have cried and screamed and talked and wrote, until I dragged every last piece of that… that…_wickedness_ out of my insides!” he spat with fury. “How many times did I pray and beg the Valar to give me the strength to get through one more day? Just one more day?” he raised his face to the sky and roared. _“What more can I do?”_

He lowered his arms, overcome with a weariness he had not felt in months. His eyes clenched shut in consternation. “I…” his throat tightened. “Forgive me, My Lady. I had no right—”

“Your anger toward me was on behalf of one you cherish, and that is not a bad thing.” She motioned to a nearby patch of grass. “Shall we sit for a moment?” Galadriel’s dress floated to the ground and arranged itself elegantly around her sitting form, as she patted the spot next to her. “Join me, please.”

Stifling a sigh, he followed suit. 

“You are no coward, Guardian,” she said. “You are to be admired for your recovery, though I know it felt impossible most of the time. There are those who might say that you suffered so because you are Silvan and not as powerful as one of the Noldor,” she scoffed as her lips thinned in scorn. “I am considered the most powerful Elf in Middle Earth, and perhaps I am, but when it comes to the Black…” Her face clouded. “You and Rúmil were not the only ones attacked by Pallando’s evil.”

Tur’s face fell in shame. How could he have been so insensitive? “I am sorry—”

“Do not be, Captain,” she placed her hand over his. “It is true I had my own Darkness to contend with, but no one in this has suffered more than you. I know how hard it was for you to overcome this, and I admire you for that.”

“You… admire _me?”_

“I do,” she nodded with a smile. “I also know how much you love my foster-daughter. Your heart wants to join with her, but you are still afraid, yes?”

Turamarth’s mouth went dry. “I was. I do not mean to be indelicate, but I was not able to… I mean…”

“Captain,” One side of Galadriel’s mouth curled up slightly. “Let me put you at ease: you did not come here until you were sure you were physically able to join with Evvy?”

He nodded.

“And though you are... _able,”_ she prodded gently. “You have lingering doubts as to whether you can actually complete the joining with her?” 

“Yes,” he winced. “I know it is possible, but I think about it, and I fear my mind will not let me go through with it.” He covered his face. “This is difficult to speak of, but Evvy deserves the joy of a true marriage.”

She gently pried his hands away and said in an encouraging tone. “That is the precise reason why I arranged for Evvy to look in my Mirror, Turamarth. Words could never describe it fully. If she did not see this for herself, how could you be completely certain she would understand and accept the depth of your wounds?”

“I had not considered that,” he said. 

“Even a small doubt could linger and eventually come between the two of you.” Galadriel reached inside his shirt and drew out the yellow diamond that once belonged to her daughter, Celebrain. “This _Gîl-Naur_ brought you comfort in a time of great need, but do not think it gave you courage.” She placed her other hand on his heart. “That is something you already possess, Captain. Your courage and your desire to help and protect others is what made you worthy to bear this priceless gift.” She held his gaze and said, "The Blue Wizard did not destroy the best parts of you."

Turamarth’s eyes stung as she replaced it under the neckline of his tunic, and appraised their surroundings. “When I followed you here, I was worried that you came to wallow and flagellate yourself, but I understand, now. This place will bring hope to those who feel afflicted by the cares of the world. I think I will have some benches placed here,” she motioned in an arc, “so they can sit and contemplate the bed of Elanor and see living proof of the beauty that can rise out of the ashes. But for now, I think we should return.”

He stood and offered her his hand, and helped her to rise. “May I ask a favor, My Lady?”

“Of course.”

“If Evvy finds that she cannot get past what she witnessed in your Garden, if my presence here will cause her pain, would you please allow me to leave the Golden Wood quickly and quietly?”

She turned back to him and said nothing for a moment, as she studied his face. “If this will put you at ease, then I will grant your request.”

It did. “Thank you.”

As Tur and Galadriel made their way back to Caras Galadhon, he was grateful for the silence between them. He was too nervous to keep up a conversation, or to even think. All he knew was that each step brought him closer to his future, whatever that may be.

When at last they reached the City in the Trees, he spied Evvy standing with Rúmil on the Forest Floor by the stairs leading to the Marchwarden’s _Talon_.

***************

Rúmil was sitting in his room, reading when he was startled by frantic pounding on their front door. 

“I am coming!” he placed his bookmark and dashed through the hall and Sitting room. He opened the door to find Evranin standing there, her face wet with tears and shaking.

“Evvy!” he cried, urging her inside. “You look frightened to death!” He brought her to one of the couches and sat her down. “_Amarth faeg_, you are shaking like a leaf!” He grabbed a nearby blanket and draped it across her shoulders, and went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. “Drink this,” he ordered as he sat beside her and rubbed her arms. 

“Thank you,” her hands shook. 

Rúmil placed his hands over her fingers and helped her take a few sips. “Now,” he said, as he set it on the table. “What has frightened you so? I thought you were with Tur.”

The _Elleth_’s face screwed up and she burst into tears as she leaned into his chest. The Warden could do little else but hold her until she cried herself out. A leaden weight appeared in his stomach and grew with each passing moment.

This was not what he had anticipated at all. 

And where was Tur?

“Should I get your father? Or perhaps Orlin—”

“No!” she shrieked, as she lifted her face. “Please, no! _Ada_ and Orlin would never understand,” she said, and voiced what he had been thinking. “I need to talk to Tur.”

“He is not here,” Rúmil said, carefully. “Was he not with you?”

“Yes,” she wailed. “I mean, no; he was with me, but then something happened and he… was gone.”

“What happened?” he sat back; eyes widened with worry. “Did he hurt you? Did anyone hurt you?”

“No, it was not like that at all. He said h-he... I had to know—well, the Lady said I had to know, and she knew he was coming, and then she left, and we looked in the Mirror…”

The Warden rubbed his hand over his mouth.

“Evvy,” he handed her a napkin to wipe her face, “Turamarth went to you, because he wanted you to understand why he was unable to see or speak to you for those months.” He took her cold hands in his and rubbed them. 

“He did.”

“And from what I can gather, Lady Galadriel decided you needed to… see it?”

She went pale and nodded.

“Was it worse than I imagined?”

She picked up her water and drank some more. “If what you imagined was a vision of Tur repeatedly raping me and killing me, then yes; it was _that _bad.”

_Ai, gorgor…_

He needed to proceed carefully. “Can you tell me how you felt about that?”

She blew her nose and forced herself to calm down some. “Of all the ways he could be hurt, nothing like that occurred to me! I was shocked and…” her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Oh, Rúmil. I became frightened and screamed; I couldn’t help it!” her lips trembled. 

“Did this cause you any pain?” he asked intently.

“Not physically, if that is what you are wondering,” she wiped her eyes again. “How could anyone endure such a sight and not cry out? It broke my heart to see anyone suffer like that!” she shifted on the couch to face him. “Maybe it’s good he is not here. I need a chance to sort all this out.”

“That makes a great deal of sense,” he nodded. “It must be a lot to absorb.”

“It is, but now I understand why he avoided me,” she shook her head sadly. “Orlin kept telling me it wasn’t my fault, but how could I believe that?” Evvy gave him a sheepish glance. “I know I hardly make sense.”

“Babble away, _Mellon_ _nîn_,” he smiled. “This is a great deal to sort out. I think you are right to collect your thoughts before you speak with Tur.” He grew serious. “You _do _understand that it was not Tur in the Mirror? The Blue Wizard saw into his mind and wanted to destroy that which was most precious to him. Turamarth is a good _Ellon_, Evvy; he would die before hurting you or anyone. 

Evvy’s dark brown eyes probed his. “Do you truly believe that?”

“With everything I know, and everything I am,” he put his arm around her. “Now, do you see why he was nearly destroyed? If Tur’s feelings for you were not so deep and true, the Black Breath would not have affected him so. And,” he swallowed down a sudden tightness in his throat, “unless you have been through it _Aewpîn_, you cannot truly know the pain of it. Tur loves you, Evvy. He loves you and respects you enough to want you to know everything before you decide to marry him. He has placed his most desperate secrets at your feet because he wants you so badly.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But how can I look him in the eye and say ‘Yes,’ until I can be sure we can get past it?”

“Can you get past it?” he asked. “Tur is terrified that you will look at him and see that _Ellon_ in the vision. It is one thing to believe in your mind that none of that was real, but what does your heart tell you?

“Let me ask you something,” his voice was gentle, but firm. “When you looked into the Mirror, whose suffering upset you? Your own, or Turamarth’s?”

Evvy leaned her head on the back of the couch with a loud sigh and stared up at the ceiling. “That _Elleth_ looked and sounded like me, but I did not feel a real connection. It was as if it were happening to someone else, so that is not the problem.”

“And did you feel like that was really Tur in the Mirror?”

“Yes, but no,” Evvy still looked up, but her hand covered her heart. “Every time I see Tur, he stirs something inside, and when he kisses me. I feel…”

Rúmil cleared his throat. “We do not need to go into _quite_ so much detail.”

Evvy couldn’t help but laugh, as she jabbed him with her elbow. “I see your point, but I think I reacted to that vision because I react to _him._ That is my difficulty.” She turned her head to the side and faced him. “Did Tur tell you everything?”

“No,” Rúmil admitted. “And I do not need to know. All that matters is how you feel about this.”

She was silent for a moment or two, then began to speak. “Last winter, I had befriended Saeros, though many warned me he was not what he seemed. On the surface, he was kind, and considerate, and terribly lonely, Rúmil. I know what it is like to feel that alone…” her voice drifted for a moment. “When he captured me and dragged me through those tunnels, he turned into a stranger, right before my eyes. He was cruel, and violent.” She pushed herself to sit up straight. “That was it!”

“What was it?”

“Saeros and Tur - the image of him, I mean - both had the same expression on their faces!”

“Since that violence came from the same source of evil, that would make sense,” Rúmil rubbed his jaw. “It would probably also explain why you came to me in such hysterics. It was not just Turamarth you reacted to it was Saeros. Haldir tells me this happens to some Elves who survive a battle; they see or hear or smell something and the return to that time and place.”

“Orlin has spoken of it.” Evvy said thoughtfully, then shook herself. “But let me tell you something else about Saeros: Just before he was killed, in that split-second before the iced fell n us, he came back to himself. He looked down at me with such confusion and sorrow…” [1]

“He was free of Pallando’s grip?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know this to be true because that is why Lord Námo showed him mercy, and why he was saved from the Void.” [2]

Rúmil’s head jerked back. “Excuse me? How could _you_ know what Lord Námo does?”

“Because I was in the Halls of Mandos,” she shrugged casually. “And, I saw my mother in Valinor.” [3]

“ Wait, _w__hat?”_ he jumped away from her. “When?”

“When I was hurt,” Evvy said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “You mean, you don’t know about this? You came to the Palace with my father; why did no one tell you?”

“Tell me what?” his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “I know Tur had some… er…adventures, but no one said anything to me about this!” he leaned toward her. “Tell me what happened,” he asked eagerly. “This is a story I must hear!”

“Later,” she dipped the napkin in the cold water and wiped her face. “I need you to help me find Turamarth. I have to talk to him.”

“But I want to hear this story!” he whined as she got up and straightened her dress. “What was it like in the Halls of Waiting?”

“Focus, Rúmil,” she said as she ran her fingers through her hair. “There are more important things to do, at the moment.”

“You are just saying that to torture me!” he pouted. 

“Yes, I am,” she crossed her arms. “And if you do not get your _nulav_ off that couch and help me find him, I am never going to tell you.”

The Warden cursed under his breath as he went to get his boots.

“Keep that up, and I definitely will not tell you who gave me my necklace!” she called.

***************

Evranin took several deep breaths. The initial turmoil had worked itself out, thanks to Rúmil, and she had come to a decision.

Rúmil emerged from his room with a sour face, but she was grateful for the whimsical banter, especially toward the end of their talk, which eased the tension in her shoulders and stomach and helped her to settle her mind. 

As much as Evvy adored Orlin, sometimes there were things she just couldn’t confide in him about, and the Marchwarden’s youngest brother was always ready to lend her a listening ear. There was the fear that her mother (before she left for Valinor and found happiness) would get wind of their camaraderie and try to arrange a match between them, but to all appearances, Rúmil was Orlin’s close friend, and Evranin was the tagalong. 

The pair descended the spiral staircase around the giant _Mallorn_ tree, as Rúmil nagged her for more details. 

“Stop,” she scowled. “I need to concentrate.”

“About what?” he demanded. “You know what you want, yes?”

“I know what I am going to say to him.”

“Which is?”

“You will see.”

“Evvy,” he grabbed her upper arm and made her stop. “I love you, and I love Tur,” Rúmil was serious again. “If you have to hurt him, please, be gentle.”

She met his eyes and held it. “I promise.”

When at last they reached the Forest Floor they headed toward the Lady’s Garden—

But in the corner of her eye she saw a flutter of white material.

It was Galadriel.

And beside her was a nervous-looking Guardian of the Woodland Realm.

Evvy threw her shoulders back and took deep breath. 

With sure steps, she walked until she stood before the Lady of Light and the Captain.

The Guardian’s jaw dropped, and he went completely white. He started to teeter, and Evvy was afraid he might faint, but Galadriel placed her hand on his back and whispered a few words.

Then Evranin, daughter of Óhtar and Vériel opened her mouth and said in a clear and strong voice,

_“De i mheleth e-guil nîn, Turamarth Ómarion. _ _Ma vestuvatyë ni?”_

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_De i mheleth e-guil nîn, Turamarth Ómarion. _ _Ma vestuvatyë ni? –_ You are the love of my life, Turamarth, son of Ómar. Will you marry me?

_Gîl-Naur_ – Sun-Star, the necklace given to Tur by Galadriel to bring him help.

**NOTES:**

[1] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 19: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/52640581>

[2] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 23: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53774125>

[3] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 24: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/53959351>


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters arrive from Lothlórien, and a small "Battle of the Sexes" ensues.
> 
> But everybody gets to kiss and make up later...

_“I'm running out of ways to make you see  
I want you to stay here beside me  
I won't be ok and I won't pretend I am  
So just tell me today and take my hand  
Please take my hand  
Please take my hand  
Please take my hand  
Please take my hand_

_Just say yes, just say there's nothing holding you back  
It's not a test, nor a trick of the mind  
Only love…”_

** _ “Just Say Yes,”  _ ** _ by** Snow Patrol** _

**City of Dale, 14th of October 2945 T.A.**

Rhian was helping Hilda and Percy sort the box of correspondence from Lothlórien in the conference room Daeron appeared in the doorway, their bouncy three-and-a-half-year-old son in tow.

“Hi, Mama!” Darryn burst into the room and crawled into her lap. _“Ada’s_ gonna let me see the horsies, and I’m gonna pway wi’ Owena an Mad!”

“Sounds like fun, little man,” she ran her fingers through his thick dark curls. “Hmmm… Your hair is getting long. I think it’s time for a haircut.”

“Nuh-uh!” the little boy protested. “I want it long, just like _Ada_ and Unca Tur!”

Rhian glanced up at her husband, who shrugged with a grin.

“Speaking of ‘Unca Tur,” Daeron said, “I saw the messengers, and wanted to see if there is a letter from him.”

“Let’s find out,” Hilda dove into the pile of sealed envelopes and spread them around.

“Hil!” Percy grimaced. “You’re ruining my system!”

“Oh, pish," she scoffed. "We’ve been waiting on pins and needles since that boy left Dale,” she quirked an eyebrow at him, "and you’ve been worried, too; don’t deny it.”

Daeron kissed Rhian on the cheek, pulled out the chair next to his wife and took a seat. “I’ve prayed every night for good news.”

“I know, babe,” Rhian’s mouth pursed with worry, as she pushed into the pile, until she saw an envelope with Tengwar script in a familiar back-handed slant. “Oooh!” she grabbed it and held it aloft in triumph. “I think this is it!” she studied the letters. “I think it’s for you,” she handed it over to Daeron.

“Don’t just sit there with your teeth in your mouth,” Hilda snapped. “Open it and tell us what it says!”

“What’s all the racket in here?” Bard appeared in the doorway with a few papers on his hand. “Pers, I have a few—”

“Shhhhhh!” Hilda waved her hand at the King of Dale. “We’re waiting to find out what Tur wrote to Daeron!”

“About what?” Bard’s forehead wrinkled.

“About Evvy, you dolt! Where have you been for the past year?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Bard said. “Does Thranduil know the mail came?”

“Dunno,” Percy shrugged, rolling his eyes. “As soon as I got the box, these two,” he pointed to Hilda and Rhian, “grabbed me and dragged me in here!”

“Wait a second,” Bard said as he ducked his head out the door and gave one of the Guards an order. “I just sent for him; he’s going to want to hear this.”

The women groaned at the delay, but managed to hang on until the Elvenking joined them.

“Anybody else? Do you want to get Cook and Greta too?” Hilda rolled her eyes. 

Percy called her bluff. “Great idea! Anybody else?” 

Hilda’s eyes were like slits.

Rhian put Darryn down and said, “Go see Lord Frandoo, sweetie; Mama wants to hear this.” After the boy crawled into the Elvenking’s lap, she said, “Go on, babe; I can’t stand it anymore.”

The Elf turned the envelope over, broke the seal and read:

> _“Lothlórien, 21st of September 2945 T.A._
> 
> _Suil, Gwador and my dear Gwathel, Rhian,_
> 
> _I am happy to tell you I am betrothed to Evvy. The ceremony was held on the 20th of September in one of Galadriel’s Gardens and we used the silver rings my Ada and Nana sent with me. I sent a letter to our parents at the Palace as well._
> 
> _We are hoping to marry here in the Golden Wood in mid-August and the Lady has authorized me to invite you all.”_
> 
> _I am happy beyond all reason, and cannot wait to see you with my beautiful bride by my side._
> 
> _I will write more later._
> 
> _With much love and good wishes, _
> 
> _Turamarth”_

“Hey, that’s terrific!” Percy clapped a hand on Hilda’s back. “He did it!”

“What wonderful news!” Thranduil smiled, bouncing the little boy on his knee.

“Your Uncle is going to give you a new Aunt!” Bard reached over and tickled Darryn’s stomach. “What do you think of that?”

“Yay!” Darryn raised his hands and clapped. 

Daeron sat back in his chair with a relieved sigh. “Praise the Valar, he did it!”

The women said nothing.

“_Hind Calen_?” Daeron eyed his wife warily.

“Hilda?” Percy asked. “This is good news; you know that, right?”

Rhian grabbed the letter and skimmed the page, and handed it over to Hilda in disgust.

“I can’t read Elvish,” Hilda tsked. “What else did he say, Daeron?”

“Nothing,” the Elf shrugged. “What else is there to say?”

“You mean _that’s it?”_ the woman shrieked. _“That’s all he said?”_

Rhian crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. _“Men!”_

_ _

“What do you mean by that?” Daeron’s head jerked back in surprise. “He told us what we wanted to know, did he not? She agreed to marry him, they had a ceremony, and there will be a wedding next year. What more could he tell us? And I am not a Man, I am an Elf!”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Hilda shook her head. “A male is a male is a male, and you boys just don’t get it.”

“What did I do, Hil?” Bard demanded, then turned to his husband. “Do you have a clue, here?”

“Just a minute,” Rhian grabbed a pile of the letters and pulled them toward her. “Let’s hope Evvy wrote something; I’m going crazy here.” Ignoring Percy’s pleas to keep things somewhat organized, the women dove in and got to work.

“Let’s hope it’s addressed to me,” Rhian explained, “because it’ll be in Westron…’ her fingers sifted rapidly. “Oh, wait… I think this… Yes! Here it is!” She grabbed a thick packet, with the name “Lady Rhian Adamarion” written in rounded letters, and sealed with blue wax. 

“Finally!” Hilda groaned with relief.

“I still don’t get what the problem is,” Bard complained.

“Best to shut your trap and let the girls have their fun,” Percy warned.

“But—” Daeron’s face pinched, but Rhian pierced him with a glance. He held his hands up and closed his mouth.

“Now,” she said, “let’s find out what really happened.”

She bent the thick letter until the little wax bird cracked in half, and took out several pages. 

> _“23rd September, T.A. 2945_
> 
> _To my dear friend Rhian,_
> 
> _At last it is settled, and we are to be cousins, though I would much rather think of you as a sister!_
> 
> _I could hardly believe it when Turamarth led his Guardian unit into our City, took off his helmet and searched for me. Would you believe my Ada and Orlin knew he was coming? Orlin helped me push to the front of the crowd, when our eyes met, I thought I would burst with happiness!_
> 
> _Many of our folk have remarked at his miraculous recovery from the attacks last year – and thank the Valar none still believe he was responsible for poor Meldon’s death. The Lord and Lady welcomed the Guardians to Lothlórien in a short ceremony, then he handed his helmet to Orlin and swept me off my feet and kissed me!“_

“Aww,” Hilda put her hand over her heart.

“They didn’t tell Evvy he was coming?” Bard asked.

“It was my idea,” Rhian giggled. “I told him to write to her Da ahead of time.”

> _“Tur and I spend every minute he could spare together. He held my hand as we walked among the trees as he told me how about little Darryn’s antics, and of you and Daeron, and all the news from the Palace. Airen and Elion write frequently, so most of it I already knew, but I didn’t tell him that; it was wonderful to listen to him speak so happily. I haven’t seen that sparkle in his eyes since the day he and I took Darryn to the park just after you and Daeron were married._
> 
> _Part of me knew that before he asked for my hand, he wanted me to understand the nature of his injuries, but I couldn’t understand why he was so afraid of it. What could possibly have happened that would make me want to refuse him—"_

“Rhian,” Daeron whispered, as he placed his hand on her wrist. 

“I know,” she nodded, and said to the others. “I can't read _every_ part of this letter.”

“Absolutely,” Hilda agreed. “Tell us what you can, love.”

Rhian’s green eyes darted back and forth across the page. “Lady Galadriel set them up… she used her Mirror… Oh, my goodness!” she gasped.

“What happened?” Percy asked.

“I thought you didn’t care about details,” Hilda smirked.

“Be quiet, woman and let the girl talk!”

Rhian squealed with laughter. “You aren’t going to believe this!”

> _“Nothing prepared me for what I saw in that Mirror, Rhian, and I couldn’t stop myself from screaming, but poor Tur thought I was upset with him, and disappeared, thinking I’d never want to speak to him again! I was upset to be sure, not for myself at all, but for him! To think of all he endured, and how hard he worked to get past it only made me love him more._
> 
> _I was in tears when I went Haldir’s Talon, but Rúmil had not seen Tur. He helped me calm down and together we left to search for him. Praise Elbereth Lady Galadriel must have known where he was and brought him back to the City, because as soon as we reached the Forest Floor, there he was, looking terrified._
> 
> _And do you know what I did?”_

“What?” Hilda leaned in.

“What?” Bard tilted his head, his eyes bulging.

“Wha?” Darryn asked because everybody else was asking.

“What do you think?” Percy’s brows shot up. “Didn’t Tur just tell us they’re betrothed?”

“Hush, you!” Hilda jabbed him in the ribs. 

“Ow!”

Rhian shook her head, and read:

> “I _asked _him Turamarth to _marry _me!“

“Good girl!” Percy burst into laughter. 

“Evranin is very clever,” Thranduil’s eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Go on,” Bard waved his finger in circles. “What happened then?”

> _“Tur was stunned, and did not answer for a moment, until the Lady nudged him forward. I went down on one knee and repeated the question, this time using the tradition words, “Gi melin, ah aníron gi mestad. Ma i ind gîn?” which means, ‘I love you, and I want to marry you. What is your will?’”_

Rhian sighed dreamily. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Hilda’s hands were on her cheeks. “Oh, my lands…”

> _“Turamarth did not respond at first; he was too shocked. Behind him, Lady Galadriel’s smile encouraged me, so I remained silent and waited for his response. What finally came out of his mouth was, _‘I _am supposed to say that to _you.’”

Thranduil stroked Darryn’s head with amusement. “Your Uncle Tur is a silly Elf, is he not?”

“Uh huh!”

“Oh, Tur, you idiot!” Hilda snapped. “If he screws this up, I’m going to smack—"

“Just wait, will ya?” Percy barked; his face anxious.

“Don’t yell at me!” she glared daggers at him. _“You_ didn't care about this stuff!”

“Let’s all just settle down a minute,” Bard held his hands up. “Rhian’s never going to get to the end if we keep interrupting!”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Rhian turned the page over and continued.

> _“I told him, ‘Turamarth Ómarion, I love you, and if you think some silly, Wizard is going to keep me from spending the rest of my life with you, then he deserves to be dead.’ I took his hands and pulled him down to kneel in front of me and kissed him._
> 
> _And he kissed me back._
> 
> _And then he said yes!“_

“Praise Ulmo and all the Valar!” Hilda slumped against Percy. “That boy nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“But he already wrote—” Percy began, but shut his mouth at Hilda’s warning look. “Fine,” he muttered.

> _“Our Ceremony was beautiful! Galadriel surprised me with a new dress in Tur’s favorite shade of green, with yellow and lavender flowers embroidered on the bodice. Rúmil insisted upon choosing Tur’s outfit (so he told me) and when nothing in his closet would suffice, made him wear a tunic from his own. It was a deep crimson that—“_

“Why do women always get tangled up in the outfits?” Percy said. “Who cares?”

_“Percy!”_ Rhian and Hilda both said.

> _“-accentuated his beautiful thick auburn hair. His black boots were polished to perfection and I could hardly take my eyes off him. He was a bit sad (no doubt missing his Gwador), but Rúmil and Haldir were proud to stand in Daeron’s place_.
> 
> _I was deeply honored to be given his mother’s silver ring and I proudly slipped Tur’s father’s ring on his finger and I spoke my promise to wed him. Lord Celeborn presided over the ceremony, and poor Lady Galadriel was almost too emotional to speak. Ada and Orlin stood up for me, and Rúmil and Haldir supported Tur in his parent’s stead. _
> 
> _After the Ceremony, Tur and I wanted to go to the resting place of our fallen comrades and place flowers on their graves. The Lord and Lady led us in song, and together we thanked Eru and the Valar for bringing love and hope out of such tragedy. _
> 
> _We all cried as we remembered our friends, but they would want us to find happiness, and it is a comfort to make good memories to share when we see them again on the White Shores._
> 
> _We feasted and danced almost all night. I think everyone in the Golden Wood wants to appreciate the joys of our world even more, because we have learned how fragile life can be. No more are we complacent in our contentment. Tur tells me it this is a quality he greatly admires about Men. The wise among them understand that life is short and to appreciate every moment they are here._
> 
> _While it is traditional to observe a full year before we are wed, Tur and I spoke with Ada and requested that the wedding take place late August, so as not to delay the Guardian Unit’s return to the North, and provide an escort for the wedding guests._
> 
> _Rhian, would you do me the great honor of standing up for me as I wed Turamarth? We both love you like a sister, and I cannot imagine celebrating this day without you!_
> 
> _Now I understand why you were so happy on your own wedding day, Mellon nîn! If I am blessed to have a portion of that joy, I know my life with Tur will be wonderful!_
> 
> _Much love, _
> 
> _Evvy_
> 
> _P.S. Please kiss my soon-to-be nephew and tell him his _Tîrada Evvy _loves him.”_

Rhian put the letter down and wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe it finally happened. Our Tur is getting married!” She leaned against Daeron’s shoulder, as he kissed her hair and struggled to get himself under control.

“He could not have gotten through this without you, _Hind Calen_,” he gently lifted her chin and kissed her. “My beautiful, brave Rhian,” he lifted a strand of her curly hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I am so proud of you.”

“Well,” Bard coughed roughly and got to his feet. “Thranduil, do you have a moment? I just... remembered something.... I need to speak with you about. Privately.”

“Of course, Bard,” the Elvenking patted Darryn on the head. “I believe your father was going to take you to play with your friends?”

In a smooth move, Thranduil rose, plopped Darryn into his father’s lap and left the room as quickly as decorum would allow, but none could miss the sound of quick footsteps on the Grand Staircase.

“Rhian, love?” Hilda gave her husband a sidelong glance. “Do you think you could work on sorting the mail by yourself for an hour or so?”

“That’s my job; I should be—” the Steward of Dale protested in confusion. Then he said, “Oh. _Oh…_ Er… We’ll be back in a while. Mind the fort for us?”

“Tell you what,” Rhian giggled. “Why don’t I put them back in the box and lock them in your office?”

“Even better,” Percy winked as his wife yanked him out the door.

“Well,” Daeron grinned at his wife.

“Well,” Rhian bit her lip. “You could take Darryn over to see Maddie and Owena first, then take all the kids to the barns later…” She tweaked her son’s nose. “That’ll be even more fun!”

“Okay!” Darryn nodded.

“Come, _Pînig_,” Daeron grabbed his hands. “Let us race!”

Rhian stood on tiptoe and fondled the tips of her husband’s ear, making him hiss, then she whispered, “Last one in bed is the last one to come…”

The Elf’s eyes opened wide, threw their son over his shoulder, and dashed into the hall.

***************

“How long until Tilda and Bain get home from school?” Bard gasped, as he tugged at the lacings of Thranduil’s tunic and pulled it over the tall Elf’s head.

“Two hours—_oooohhh…”_ Thranduil’s head tilted back when the Bowman latched on to one of his nipples and sucked hard. He sank his long, pale fingers into those black curls as Bard’s ministrations, that perfect combination of pleasure and pain, sent tingling arrows of desire straight to his cock. “I have missed you, _Meleth nîn_.”

Bard lifted his head and murmured in a low, gravely voice, You had me yesterday, as I recall,” and turned his attention to his other nipple this time using his teeth to deliciously torture the Elf until his hips bucked against his husband, moaning softly as he rubbed against Bard’s own hardness.

Then the Elvenking could take no more, he grabbed Bard by the jaw and lifted his head to kiss him hard. Their tongues wrestled against one another for dominance, yet neither was ready to give in. Strong, tanned arms wrapped around his waist and held him tighter. Thick fingers rubbed small circles down his back until they dug into his buttocks and pulled their hips together. They moaned into each other’s mouths as they rocked against each other, and the material of their leggings added delicious friction.

But it didn’t last long. In seconds, the fabric and lacings that kept them apart taunted Thranduil, and he needed to hot smoothness of Bard’s skin against his own. Trembling fingers tugged and yanked until every stitch of clothing Was scattered in a path from the door to the bed, and the Kings flopped on the mattress in an urgent tangle of arms, legs, and kisses.

Bard reached between them and gripped his fingers around his Elf’s long hot cock and pumped up and down. “You like that, My King?”

“Do you?” Thranduil smiled wickedly and nipped at Bard’s mouth as his fingers enveloped his Bowman’s thick, hot member. “Mmmm… I think so,” he said, and squeezed just the way he knew drove his husband wild. 

Bard’s eyes closed in a low, rough moan, his lips hovered over the Elvenking’s mouth. “Roll on your stomach.”

“You dare to give orders to your King?” Thranduil’s mouth curved upwards, but he didn’t slow down.

“I do, and I expect you to obey. Now get on your hands and knees for me.”

“Make me, Bowman.”

“Is that a challenge?” Bard quipped.

“What do you think?” The Elvenking laughed, then yelped as Bard managed to wrestle him onto his stomach, but not for long. With a roar, he flipped them both over until he straddled Bard and held his hands over his head. “I think I like you this way, My King; hot and hard and,” he lowered his face to nuzzle Bard’s neck, “completely at my mercy.”

“You do have a reputation as a wise and merciful King,” Bard teased. “Though I have heard stories…”

“What kind of stories?”

“That when justice demands it, your stroke is swift and final,” Bard’s eyes were almost black with desire. “That you do not hesitate to carry out your sentence.” He bit his lower lip. “But, that’s _only rumor…”_

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. “Do you doubt my authority?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Is your power as King absolute?” Bard grinned, as he thrust his hips up, making Thranduil moan.

“Absolutely,” the Elf leaned down and bit his husband’s collarbone, and pushing down against Bard’s hardness. “However, I have been known to respond to begging.”

“Very well, My King,” Bard laughed, “feel free to beg me.”

“Bard—"

And before he knew it, Thranduil was back on his stomach, and a thick oiled finger was teasing him along the crack of his arse. With a laugh, he grabbed a pillow and settled down to enjoy himself. Bard kissed and ran his hands over his back as he stroked over his opening, and circled it with increasing pressure, and soon the Elf was writhing and wanting more.

“B-Bard…”

The movement stopped. “Yes?”

Thranduil lifted his bottom toward his husband in answer, but nothing happened. 

“I’m sorry, love; I don’t understand what you want,” his husband’s voice was low and sexy.

“You know what I want.”

“I could guess,” Bard whispered, “but what if I was wrong?” he crawled up and sucked on the tip of Thranduil’s ear. “Tell me, love; tell me what you need.”

“I need you inside me,” Thranduil panted.

Bard sucked his ear harder, then teased the other tip with his fingers, twisting just that little bit—

“Aaahh!” Thranduil cried out when Bard’s fingers bent and expertly teased the swollen bundle of nerves inside. “I need your fingers to tease me until I am on fire, then – _Ai, Ma! MA! _I need your cock to fill me and drive me mad!”

“Now,” Bard laughed huskily, “was that hard? But that’s not begging my love.”

“Please! Please, take me _Ci orch ‘waur!”_

“Since you asked so politely,” Bard kissed his way down Thranduil’s back, lifted his hips and filled him just as he promised. Their movements were slow, at first, until the Elvenking was grabbing at the pillow writhing and lifting to meet the pleasure of his husband’s body. 

Bard twisted his hips a little, sending shock waves throughout his body, and when he threw his head back, the Bowman grabbed his hair and pulled. That little bit of pain mixed with agonizing pleasure sent the Elvenking over the edge of the tall cliff, and he screamed all the way down, falling into his beloved husband’s strong, safe arms.

After, they murmured loving words and dozed between soft kisses, until it was time to get up and meet the children.

“Bard?” Thranduil took him in his arms, just before they left their bedchamber.

“Hmm?” his husband’s eyes, soft, warm, and sated, looked up at him with complete trust. “What’s up?”

He cupped his Bowman’s face and smiled. “Moments like these make me richest Elf in Middle Earth.”

"You mean wild sex in the afternoon?" the Bowman quirked an eyebrow.

"Well," Thranduil gave him a knowing smile, "that is always a treasure trove of delight," he winked. "But," he caressed Bard's cheek, "I love touching you like this, looking into your eyes, and knowing that my heart is safe with you." He leaned forward and whispered, "I _love_ to fuck you, _Meleth nîn; _never doubt that, but sharing my _Fëa _with someone as wonderful and honorable as you brings me joy I can hardly contain. You are my world, Bard."

“Oh, love...” Bard put his arms around Thranduil's neck and kissed him. “Do you remember the day we met on the Forest River?"

"I do. You were a lonely, miserable man," the Elvenking put his arms on Bard's waist and smiled down at him. "You were beautiful, even then."

"You were no slouch, either, you know," Bard's mouth curved upwards in a sly smile. "Who could have guessed that meeting you would change everything about my life?"

"The Valar must have known," the Elf mused.

"And I thank them every day," Bard kissed him on the nose and released him. Come on; Tilda's school will be out soon."

The Kings closed the Bedchamber doors behind them, and held hands as they made their way down the long hall, until a strange sound stopped them.

“What…” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, as they neared Hilda and Percy’s bedroom door.

_Giggling?_

Thranduil’s thick brows nearly reached his hairline as he mouthed _Is that Hilda?_

_ _

The giggling was soon accompanied by the loud squeak of bedsprings.

Bard snorted and clapped his hand over Thranduil’s mouth to muffle his gasp. 

"But, Bard!" he pulled the fingers away, "Hilda and Percy--"

"We're not the only ones who enjoy a little afternoon delight, love." Bard whispered. "I'm afraid you'll just have to accept it."

"But the children!"

“--already know about the bird and the bees, except for Tilda, and if you don’t want her scarred for life,” he whispered softly, “you’ll put up a Silencing Spell quick.”

"She is not the only one who is scarred," Thranduil shuddered, threw his hand up and muttered the words. By then his Bowman could hardly contain himself. He grabbed his wrist and by the time they reached the top of the Grand Staircase, he was holding his sides and tears were streaming down his face.

“It is not funny,” Thranduil sniffed. “Hilda and Percy are like our own parents and…”

“Well,” Bard wiped his eyes. “At least you didn't catch _them_ on the dining room table.”

_“Bard!” _Thranduil turned a little green as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Thank you very much for _that_ image!"

“My poor baby,” Bard wrapped his arms around him, his shoulders still shaking, but in the end, he had to let go, hang over the banister and laugh some more.

Bard managed to keep it together all during dinner when Thranduil couldn’t meet the older couple’s eyes, but when Tilda asked her Uncle Percy why his back seemed stiff, he nearly spit out his wine and had to leave the room.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Ai, Ma! MA! _– Oh, yes! YES!

_Ci orch ‘waur – _You dirty Orc!


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick note to my readers to hang in there... I suppose you could call this a "Pre-Epilogue Epilogue?" 🤷♀️🤷♀️🤷♀️
> 
> You'll see...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There I was, minding my own business, working on Chapter 43, when a certain pair of Kings threw a monkey wrench into my plans...

**My Bedroom, 4th of August 2020, too damned early in the morning**

_“Jesus Christ on toast!”_ I scream, pulling my blanket up to my chin.

Once again, I opened my eyes and stretch my poor aching joints only to glance over to my right—

And there they are. 

Again.

> This time it was Tur, Evvy, Daeron, Rhian and of course, the Kings. They had commandeered the dining room chairs and sat calmly in a semi-circle at the side of my bed. Rhian held a document, for some stupid reason.
> 
> I opened my mouth and said, “Can I at least get some—”
> 
> “Here,” Bard handed me a mug. “Just the way you like it.”
> 
> “Thank you,” I sit up and take the cup, put it down on the washstand beside the bed and pull back the covers. “But I need to let the dog out—”
> 
> “That is already taken care of,” Thranduil said, as he stroked Fang’s fur. She was curled in a ball on his lap, fast asleep. “We have also fed her, so you cannot use that as an excuse.”
> 
> Rats.
> 
> “Okay,” I yawned, “what’s the problem _now?”_
> 
> “We demand to see what you have written for Chapter Forty-Three before you post it,” Thranduil said. 
> 
> “Uh…” my jaw went slack. “Um… Why would you want that? And give me one good reason why I should go along with it!”
> 
> “Thranduil and I are Kings,” Bard pursed his lips. “That should be reason enough.”
> 
> “You’re not _my_ Kings!” I retorted.
> 
> “Yes, we are!” the Elvenking snapped. “You have written about us for the past 2 ½ years, have you not?”
> 
> “Well, yes, but…”
> 
> “That makes us your Kings, and therefore bound to our authority,” Thranduil said with a triumphant smile. 
> 
> _Oh, for the love of…_
> 
> Thranduil narrowed his eyes and his upper lip curled slightly. “And do not try the ‘I’ll take away The Elf Thing’ nonsense,” he said. “We are, as they say, ‘Over It.’”
> 
> With a eye roll to rival a teenager, I sighed. “Fine. What is it this time?”
> 
> “We have a petition,” Rhian said primly.
> 
> “You’re kidding right?”
> 
> “I’m dead serious,” she quirked an eyebrow lifted the parchment and read:
> 
> “Aw,” I simpered as my hands covered my heart, “’Esteemed?’”
> 
> “Don’t interrupt,” Bard said. “And just for the record, I didn’t ‘esteem’ you when you had my leg smashed back in _And Winter Came…_ I hurt like a sonofabitch, and nearly killed me!”
> 
> “What my husband is trying to say is that the term ‘esteemed’ is merely a polite courtesy,” Thranduil added. “Trust me, no one was,” he lifted his fingers and made air quotes, “’esteeming’ you when had our poor children kidnapped by a bunch of perverts and predators!”
> 
> “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” I put up my hands in surrender. “But that’s what a writer is supposed to do! Create a character, give him a personality, take away everything they love, and describe the angst! It’s the art of fiction, and it’s especially true when writing a thriller! I can’t always write fluff, you know. It’s…boring.”
> 
> “Stop taking your personal boredom out on us!” Turamarth said through gritted teeth. “If you need excitement,” “Try skydiving or bungee jumping, for pity’s sake! What did we ever do to you?”
> 
> _“If_ I might continue, please?” Rhian cleared her throat again. “I can’t stay long; I left the baby with Da and Hannah, and they’ve got to get to work soon.” She lifted the paper and read:
> 
> “But… I have it all planned out in an outline!” I wailed. “Who all signed this thing, anyway?”
> 
> "There's more. Just be glad Hilda isn't here, or there would be weeping and gnashing of teeth,” Bard said. "Go on, Rhian."
> 
> My eyes bulged. “You can’t do that!” I shrieked. “You can’t just... write my story for me!”
> 
> “Wanna bet?” Bard crossed his arms. 
> 
> “But…” I rubbed my face. “You said it was a petition? How many people agree with you?”
> 
> Rhian handed the documents over to me, and I skimmed the long list of names. “Holy crap… This is the entire cast of characters from _Broken Wings!”_
> 
> “Not to mention every other citizen of Dale and several from Lothlórien, including the Lord and Lady themselves,” Bard leaned forward and pointed. “And you’ll notice, we’ve even managed to get King Abdullon from Harad to sign, too!”
> 
> “That’s not fair!” I cried. “He only appeared way back in Part III and has nothing at all to do with this! Come on, guys; that’s playing dirty!”
> 
> ”Hey, whatever works,” Bard shrugged.
> 
> “Perhaps if you would read us your draft of Chapter 43,” the Elvenking suggested, “we could make an informed decision as to whether it should be included or not.”
> 
> “First of all,” I said in a low, angry tone, “it’s all ready to post, and I _will not be strong-armed into anything. _Secondly, all you Original Characters were created by me, and I get to be the one who decides—”
> 
> “Could you stop with the posturing?” Bard chopped his and through the air. “Rhian’s right; she’s got to get back soon. Hannah has a patient in early labor and Ben needs has a meeting in less than an hour. Now, just read it to us, and I promise,” his eyes swept around to the other members of the group, “we will be polite, right guys?”
> 
> Turamarth’s knee jiggled nervously, and Evvy grabbed his hand. “We’ll be nice about it.”
> 
> So, I grabbed my laptop, found the Word doc and read it to them.
> 
> Once done, I asked, “So? What do you think?”
> 
> “It’s not bad,” Rhian lips pursed to one side. “But it would make a better first chapter for the next part in your series. This way, Tur and Evvy could get their wedding sooner, and live happily ever after, and you have a great intro to Part VI!”
> 
> “Who's kidding who here?" I scoff. "Tur just horny and can’t wait to get laid.”
> 
> The Elf’s ears turned bright red, and Evvy’s face turned the shade of a ripe tomato.
> 
> “Well, what of it?” Rhian snapped. “You don't think Daeron and I had a hard time not ripping each other's clothes off? And that was just mean!”
> 
> “I'm sorry for what I said, Tur; it was out of line." I leaned back against my pillows. "Maybe you’re right. 
> 
> "I forgive you," the Elf said, but still looked mad. 
> 
> “Okay. I’ll take me a few days to get it written the way you want, but I can do it this way.”
> 
> “Could you?” Evvy let go of her betrothed, and clasped her hands together. “Please?”
> 
> The entire group heaved a sigh of relief. 
> 
> “Then I guess our work here is done,” Bard rose with a lopsided grin. 
> 
> “We knew you would see reason,” Thranduil said, as he handed me my dog. “We would hate for anything terrible to happen to Fang.”
> 
> The mutt in question whined and tried to jump back into the Elvenking’s arms.
> 
> “Traitor,” I hissed.
> 
> “Goodbye!” Evvy waved, as she and Tur opened the closet door. One by one, the group left, until the Elvenking was the last to leave.
> 
> Thranduil turned back to me with a puzzled expression. “May I ask you a question?”
> 
> “Sure.”
> 
> “Who exactly is this Jesus Christ, and why would he want to sit on a piece of toast?”

…and that’s when I woke up.

I still had the stack of papers in my lap, and it appears my characters had a hell of a lot more to say than just signing their names:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... Next Chapter will be the Last, which means:
> 
> At Last Bard & his family will get to see the Golden Wood, which means,  
At last Tilda will get to see Gallerdill's house with the big trees,  
At last Tur & Evvy will get married, which means,  
At last...  
There will be a Wedding Night!


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Tur’s exchange year comes to a close, our merry band of characters gather for the long trip to see the wonders of the Golden Wood, and attend a Very Special Wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, ok, ok… I have some good news and bad news. The bad news is this conclusion felt horribly rushed, so it has been split into two chapters. The *good* news is I am posting the Wedding and the Wedding Night tomorrow, so you don’t have to wait!

_“When I fall in love, it will be forever_

_Or I'll never fall in love_

_In a restless world like this is_

_Love is ended before it's begun_

_And too many moonlight kisses_

_Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun_

_When I give my heart, it will be completely_

_Or I'll never give my heart_

_And the moment I can feel that_

_ you feel that way too_

_Is when I fall in love _

_With you…”_

** _ Sung _ ** _ by **Nat King Cole** _

**City of Dale, 3rd of August 2946 T.A.**

Bain, son of Bard, Crown Prince of Dale, stepped out of the heavy doors of the Castle that will one day be his, and observed the controlled chaos in the Courtyard. Everybody seemed to be running in different directions, but with a purpose. Feren had the Guardians under control, and Greta and Hilda knew what they were doing.

“Okay, do we have everything?” Hilda’s hands were on her hips, as she eyed the wagons piled high with trunks, foodstuffs and other supplies. 

“I don’t see how, Auntie Hil; you’ve double- and triple checked everything on the lists, then had Greta go over it.” Bain was a full head taller than his Auntie Hil now, and two inches taller than his own Da. Like his father, his hair grew in thick and wavy, and he liked to wear it down around his shoulders, though sometimes he pulled it back like his Elven friend Vildan used to do when he was here. Unlike his Da, and to Bain’s great delight, he was starting to grow a beard, and from the looks of things, it would be full and thick, like the grandfather he was named after. For now, he liked the clean-shaven look, as much to get the hang of the razor as to not embarrass his father.

“Do we have every_body? _Where are Bowen and Rhys?”

“They’ll meet you at the stables on the way out of the City. Bowen wanted to say goodbye to _Vórima_ and her colt, and get acquainted the horse Falarion sent him to ride.”

The Seneschal of Dale turned to the tall boy and threw her arms around him. “I’m proud of you my lad. You’ll do fine, I know it.”

Bain leaned down and kissed the top of her head and said in a voice that seemed to get deeper by the day, “I’ll do my best, Auntie Hil. You and Uncle Percy just have a good time. You haven’t had a real rest since Laketown was destroyed and you all need it.”

“Your Da is still finding reasons not to go,” she chuckled into his muscular chest. 

“I know,” he stepped back and smiled down at her, as the King of Dale’s worried voice reached their ears.

“I still don’t know about this…” Bard shook his head as he and Thranduil came out wearing their mithril armor. “This just doesn’t feel right.”

The Elvenking had his arm firmly around his husband’s shoulders. “I am the one with the gift of insight, _Meleth nîn_, and I see nothing to be concerned about but a King who refuses to enjoy himself on his holiday. Now get up on that horse and let us have a wonderful time.”

“Oh, lordy; is Da still balking?” Sigrid joined them, pulling on her riding gloves. She looked stunning in her crimson riding suit with the split skirt and high boots. “Come on, Da. Bain will be fine.”

“It’s just that…” the King of Dale’s forehead wrinkled with worry. “I’ve never left them alone for this long…”

“What better way to gauge the strength of a Kingdom than to leave it on its own?” Thranduil reminded him. “We have talked about this: Bain will send regular messages by bird and Mablung will be here to run the Army, and…” he spoke in low tones to Bard as he steered him down the steps to where his white stallion was waiting.

“Do you really think Da will make it past the Palace?” Bain grinned.

“Oh, he’ll go, if I have to tie him down and throw him in back of one of the wagons,” Hilda giggled.

“_Ada’s_ been dying to show you guys around Lothlórien, and I’ll be going next year,” the Crown Prince kissed both her knuckles. “I _want_ to do this, Auntie. I’ve got the Council and Tauriel to help, and if there’s a real problem, you know Uncle Daín will be here within two hours and Legolas will be spending most of his time with me. It’s all going to be fine.”

“You betcha,” she patted his cheek, then rolled her eyes. “I’m more worried about your Uncle Percy; his hip has been bothering him more than he’ll let on and Daeron doesn’t want him riding that much.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun.” Bain winced. 

The rest of the family spilled out unto the dais. An hour ago, Rôgon arrived with Galion. The Aide was distraught after a tearful goodbye to _Lorda,_ who would be looked after by their part-time housekeeper, Freya and her husband.

“He will be fine, _Meleth nîn_,” Rôgon kissed Galion on the temple. _“Lorda_ adores Freya, and between the two of you, I do not know which of you spoils that cat more.”

“But—”

“We both agreed he would be much better off staying here. Do you not recall that debacle at the Palace during Yule?1  They still refer to it there as ‘The Incident.’”

“He was just a little out of sorts,” Galion pouted. “It could happen to _any_ cat.”

“_Hervenn nîn_, the guards were lined up in the Hall outside the Infirmary full of scratches and bites! Did you not see all those bandages during the Yule Ball?”

“Thranduil?” he called out to the Elvenking. “Please, _Ion-nauth?"_

The Elvenking and skewered the Aide with his eyes. “I absolutely forbid it.” 

As Galion accepted his doom, Rôgon held out his hand toward Percy and wiggled his fingers. "Pay up, old man."

"Son of a..." The Steward of Dale handed a coin to the Blacksmith.

"I saw that!" Hilda scowled.

Greta, Cook and the rest of the Castle staff came out to wish the Royal Family farewell.

“Safe journeys, My Lords,” the housekeeper curtsied, before she hugged Sigrid and Tilda. “Now, you girls be good for your Das and tell me all about it when you come back, aye?”

“We will!” Tilda was grinning from ear to ear, looking cute in her new green outfit. To her _Ada’s_ chagrin, his _Tithen pen_ had gone through a growth spurt during the last year, and needed new clothes and shoes almost as fast as Glélindë and her staff could make them. “Oh, I can’t wait to get there! There’s Rhian and Darryn!” she waved.

Darryn wiggled against his mother’s hip to be put down and he rushed up the steps to throw his arms around Cooks legs. “Hi, Wewis!”

“Hey yourself, little man,” Lewis squatted down and handed the boy a cookie. “Now, I’m giving your Mam some more of these, but you have to be a very good boy and do what she says, aye?”

“Uh huh!” the little boy nodded and took a bite. “M’bye,” he said with a full mouth.

Lewis took his red handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes. One of the kitchen maids handed him a cloth sack, which was passed to Rhian. “Here’s for the little lad, M’Lady.”

“Thank you,” she stood on tiptoe and kissed the man on the cheek and grabbed her son’s hand. “Come on, lovey. Grammy and Grandad are waiting for me in the wagon, and your _Ada_ says you can ride with him on Aegis.”

Darryn’s eyes grew into saucers, and he searched the courtyard for his father. “_Ada!” _He threw up his arms and tried to race down the steps, but Tilda caught his hand and helped him run over to Daeron, who was holding his dapple grey stallion’s bridle, stroking the big horse’s nose and speaking in Quenya.

Bain couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you think he’ll be this happy for the entire trip?”

Rhian heaved a huge sigh. “I hope so. Tur would be heartbroken if we didn’t bring him.” She shrugged. “If he gets too ornery, Daeron can always make him sleep.” She kissed the young prince’s cheek. “You’re going to do great, Bain.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Have a good time!”

Tauriel was in the Courtyard, hugging everyone goodbye. When the Caravan was ready to leave, she stood next to Bain, and placed a firm grip on his shoulder.

After he waved his family off, he stood on the dais for several minutes, but his older sister’s hand was still there.

“You will be fine,” she said quietly, with a reassuring smile that showed her dimples. 

“Aye, but I’ll miss them,” he sighed. Then the Crown Prince straightened his shoulders, and turned around. “Let’s make them proud, yeah?”

“We will. And may I suggest something," Tauriel smirked, "My Lord?”

“Stop calling me that,” he nudged his sister with his shoulder. “What?”

“When you send birds to your father, let Galion know how his cat is doing?”

***************

**Lothlórien, 19th of August 2946 T.A.**

What a year it has been! Admittedly, the first few months of his exchange year was rough, as he faced the demons of his past. At first, he was furious when every detail of his attack was revealed in the Mirror, and even though the Lady came to find him and eased his distress, it took a while for him to get past the humiliation. It also took a while for him to accept that Evvy did not propose marriage out of pity or obligation. 

“I do not see you for what was done to you, my love,” she said with love in her eyes. “I think of how hard you worked to overcome it, and now you are stronger. Do you not see how brave you are? Many would allow those wounds to fester and make them bitter, yet you do not hide from the world; you still wish to serve and protect others! You, more than most, understand the evils that threaten our world, and yet you still want to face them!” she caressed his face with her soft hands and drew his lips down to hers. “You are my hero,” she whispered, just before she captured his mouth in a sweet kiss.

Apparently Evvy wasn’t the only one to think him a hero.

Two weeks ago, Turamarth and Evranin were surprised to be summoned and asked to kneel before the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. Celeborn touched each of Tur’s shoulders with his sword, while Galadriel placed a crown of leaves on her head. On the day of their marriage, Turamarth and Evranin will be awarded the titles of Lord and Lady of the House of the Dove.

It was a great honor, though Tur wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. When he took Lord Celeborn aside and confided this to him, he smiled and patted his shoulder.

“You are still a Captain in the Woodland Realm. For now, all you need do is return home, serve your King, and make a good life for _Aewpîn_ and the family you will have.”

The green and yellow banner now lay in a trunk along with the rest of Evvy’s things to take to Dale. As for himself, he had only a small trunk with his extra clothing, and a long padded case that held his practice swords and spare weaponry. As with Daeron during his year here, a Farewell Feast will be held just before he and his unit leave to escort the Wedding Party back to Dale, and his Guardians will be presented with their special Galadhrim bows to commemorate their time here. Rúmil couldn’t wait, and talked Haldir into giving Turamarth his bow last night, and it was truly a beauty. As they spent the next several hours sipping wine and talking, his fingers caressed the wood from the famous trees, and ran his fingers over the engraved message.

This morning, Turamarth lounged in his chair on the balcony of the Marchwarden’s _Talon_, there is no way to actually see the sun come up, but he still enjoyed watching the early morning light brighten until the sun threw long, bright spears through the leaves of the _Mallyrn_ trees above his head, and land on the Forest Floor, where the Galadhrim were beginning their day.

He especially enjoyed the view of the sunrise from the Eastern parapet in Dale with his friends on guard duty. If Darryn woke early and the weather was warm, he took his little nephew, telling him stories and pointing out the landmarks of Dale while his _Gwador_ and _Gwathel_ enjoyed a few more minutes of sleep.

He had been away from his _Pînig_ for almost a year and though Rhian’s frequent letters catalogued each of Darryn’s milestones and accomplishments, he now understood Daeron’s pain. When his cousin returned to Dale after his own exchange year, the hardly recognized the baby he had left behind.

Would Darryn remember his beloved Uncle Tur and run into his arms? 

He would soon find out. Lord Celeborn received a message last evening, and they had managed to fix the problems with one of the wagons and push their arrival back by only one day instead of two.

It was really happening. He and Evvy were getting married three day’s hence, and they would be joined in body and soul as husband and wife.

“Good morning, _Mellon_.” Haldir and Rúmil came out to join them with their own cups, and relaxed in other two chairs. “Today is the day,” the Marchwarden said.

“Not quite yet,” Tur laughed softly. “But I am anxious to see my family again.”

“Before they arrive,” Rúmil cleared his throat, “we need to give you our wedding gift.”

“That is not necessary,” Tur told them.

“Oh, but you will like this one,” the young Warden chuckled. “Tell him, Haldir.”

“As I am sure you know,” Haldir said, “the combs Rhian wore on the occasion of her marriage were a gift from me.”

“They are exquisite,” he said.

“Did Daeron ever tell you the reason I gave them to him?”

He shrugged slightly. “Only that you wanted him to have them.” 

The Marchwarden grew pensive and studied the contents of his cup for a few minutes, but Tur remained patient. Haldir like his own _Adar_, would not be rushed; they needed to speak in their own time. Eventually, he opened his mouth and said, “Those combs were meant for the _Elleth_ I should have married.”

The Guardian voice grew soft. “I take she was…”

“Killed, yes, but I will not go into detail. I gave them to Daeron, because it seemed wrong that they be hidden away, never to be used or appreciated.”

“I promise you, they are,” Tur smiled, as he sat back and rested his ankle over his other knee. “As a high-ranking Lady of Dale, Rhian could have her pick of any tiara she wants, but she has refused, saying those combs mean much more.” 

“I am glad.” Haldir have him a rare smile, and Rúmil was beaming.

“What?” his eyes darted between the two.

The brothers exchanged knowing looks. “We have a surprise,” Haldir smirked. “Should we tell him, Rúmil?”

Turamarth set his cup on one of the side tables and eyed the Marchwarden curiously. “Tell me what?”

“I think so,” Rúmil agreed. 

“You will not be getting married here in the city. Haldir and I offered the use of our cottage in the South for your, as the Men say, ‘honeymoon.’ When the Lady recalled the lovely waterfall nearby, Evvy decided she wanted to be married there. Once the guests leave, you and your new wife will enjoy an entire week of privacy. What a better way to start a marriage, yes?”

The Guardian’s jaw went slack. “You would do this for us?”

“Of course, we would.” Rúmil took his last sip and rose with a satisfied stretch. “Now, as much as I would delight to welcome Orophin and the others home, I am afraid must miss the activities. I am meeting my Wardens in an hour to escort some of the Lord and Lady’s servants to set up tents and make sure the cottage is ready for your wedding night.”2

After he went inside, Haldir leaned forward slightly and said, “Turamarth, you are not just my brother’s friend; I consider you mine, as well. Rúmil suffered from the Blue Wizard more than he would ever admit, and while I am overjoyed to see you overcome your difficulties,” the Elf paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough with emotion, “your presence, your _friendship_, has helped to bring him back to us. Our family is in your debt.”

“There is no debt, _Mellon_ _nîn_.” Turamarth sighed and glanced up at the trees. “I never thought I would feel sad and leaving this place, but my heart feels heavy at the thought of riding out through those Gates. I love my home, Haldir, both in the Woodland and Dale, but now, when I think of the Golden Wood, my heart will be light.”

“It helps that you will be bringing one of our lights with you,” Haldir said, resting his hand over Turamarth’s. “Know this as my sacred vow: if _ever_ you or any member of your family needs help, I am at your disposal.”

Tur was on his feet in an instant, and threw his arms around the Marchwarden. “I have no words, _Mellon_ _nîn.”_

_ _

“You had better come up with something,” Haldir clapped him on the back with a laugh. “If you cannot speak your vows during the Blessing, there will be no Joining! Now, while my erstwhile brother is off to the South, I must make ready to escort our guests to the City. Captain, I want your unit at the fountain at the noon hour, dressed in full armor!”

“Yes, Marchwarden!” Tur bowed, saluted, and went to dress.

Four hours later, he stood in front of his unit in his golden armor. The cape bearing the golden embroidery along the sides to distinguish his rank, was folded back over his right shoulder. Outwardly, he appeared calm and commanding, though a small smile tugged at his lips. Inwardly, the blood was rushing through his veins, his heart pounded hard enough to bruise his ribs, and he had to force his hands to keep still. Deep breath, curl the toes, let it out slowly… Again…

From his left, the Lord and Lady approached, along with Mithrandir and a blonde _Elleth_ with dark velvet eyes he wanted to drown in.

“Tur!” Evvy ran over to him, giving his attire an appreciative look. “You look so handsome!” 

“Thank you, _Erbain nîn.” _He leaned down and kissed the top of her nose. “So, when am I allowed to count all your freckles?”

“When I say so,” she giggled and smacked him on the arm, “and not one moment before.”

“Are you ready, Captain?” Lady Galadriel approached them with a smile. 

“My Lady,” he said after a respectful bow. “Thank you for helping Evvy to have the wedding of her dreams.”

“It is entirely our pleasure,” Galadriel’s gaze fell upon her young charge’s face, and he fought the urge to step back.

_You worry, Guardian…_

He swallowed hard, but could not look away. Beside her, the keen blue eyes of the Wizard studied him from under bushy grey brows. Galadriel’s voice appeared in his mind again.

_Will you let your fears stop you, Son of Ómar?_

_ _

Still meeting her eyes, Tur’s fingers lifted and grasped the golden jewel that hung outside of his armor. His head slowly turned back and forth.

To his relief, this seemed to satisfy the Lady and Mithrandir concerns, and they turned away and busied themselves with other matters.

But deep, deep inside, a part of him dreaded their wedding night.

***************

“I can’t believe we’re finally here!” Tilda squealed, when they reached the Gates of the Golden Wood.”

Thranduil smiled down at their youngest child, who was perched in front of him. “I can tell from the way you are squirming, _Tithen pen_. Can you behave like a Royal Princess when the Wardens come out to meet us?”

“Yes, _Ada_,” she tittered. “It’s just that I’ve waited _forever_ to see the trees again! I want to see if they’re still just like that dream I had.”

“Can we please not talk about that?” Bard’s forehead crinkled.

“Why?” Tilda asked. 

“Our memory of that time is somewhat different, my little love.”3

“Well, I don’t remember that part,” she sighed. “But I still want to see those trees.”

“We will be there soon, _Tithen pen_; for now, _Ada_ has some things to take care of.” Thranduil held up his hand and shouted, “DARO!” 

It took a few minutes for the caravan to come to a complete stop. After a bit of shuffling, they arranged themselves in proper order and proceeded the last two miles to the Gates of the Golden Wood with all the pomp and circumstance required for Two Kings of the North.

This also meant that Princess Tilda had to leave her pride of place with her _Ada_, go back to the wagons, which pleased her _not at all,_ but but rules were put in place for a reason, and she knew enough to respect them.

A formal Galadhrim escort was waiting, headed by the Marchwarden of Lothlórien himself, who lowered his head and offered a formal salute. “On behalf of Galadriel and Celeborn, I bid you welcome, Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, most beloved kin of My Lord and Lady. Too long has it been since you graced the Golden Wood for a joyous occasion. May your stay in our fair land be blessed and free of incident.”

From far behind him, Thranduil’s Elven hearing couldn't miss Percy mutter, “Boy, I sure hope so. The last thing we need is another deranged Wizard running about.”

“Hush!” That was Hilda, smacking his arm. “Thranduil can hear you!”

A noise, which quickly turned into a cough came from Feren to his left. The Elvenking chose to ignore it, and returned Haldir’s salute with equally formal words.

The Marchwarden turned his attention to his husband and offered the same, saying, “Bard, son of Brand, Dragonslayer of Laketown, consort of Thranduil and King of Dale and its surrounding lands, it is my honor, on this Historic occasion, to invite you and your children to enter our Gates and be received by their Serene Highnesses, the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien.”

Thranduil looked on with pride as Bard wearing the gold circlet from his coronation, solemnly bowed his head and offered his leather-clad hand in a perfect Elven salute. He looked resplendent in his mithril armor, gleaming in the sun. His Bowman stood proud and tall in the saddle, but Bard hardly needed no royal trappings. From the day he saw the Man, dressed in rage in the ruins of Dale, he saw a true King. 

A sudden wave of desire washed over him, and he could hardly wait to ravish him high in the trees…

“Thranduil?” Bard whispered out of the corner of his mouth. 

The Elvenking shook himself, “Many pardons, Marchwarden. You were saying?”

Haldir smothered a smile and said. “It is hardly important. Please, follow me.”

The ornate Gates opened, and Thranduil took his family to the most magical place on Middle Earth.

“Holy shit balls,” Bard murmured softly, his head craned upward. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Thranduil pulled his horse closer and took his hand and brought his knuckles to his lips. “I wanted you on my right, so I could watch you, _Meleth nîn_. Is it not incredible?” He turned in his saddle and called back to Ruvyn, “If Lady Tilda wishes, she may ride with you. Stay close to Lady Sigrid and the boys.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Oh, goodie!” came her cry of delight. “Come on, Ruvyn! Hurry!”

Up ahead, the Galadhrim enjoyed the “Oohs and Aahs” from their guests, both Elven and human. 

Orophin, who had enjoyed his exchange year in the North, rode beside his older brother, and the rest of the returning Wardens mingled with their brethren and did the same. 

“Do you see Rúmil?” Airen asked Cwën. Neither of the Wardens, now living with their husbands in the North had been back since Cwën’s and Ivran’s wedding. With a pang of regret, Thranduil never thought of it. To his relief, their spouses were attentive.

“Are you eager to return?” Lieutenant Elion asked his wife.

“I am,“ came Airen’s reply. “This will always be my homeland; I will not allow my memory to be tarnished.”

“And you, my beloved?” came Ivran’s concerned question.

“No ghosts will haunt me here,” Cwën promised. “The trees are singing to welcome us, not warn us.”

“And you, My Lord?” Ivran asked him.

“Your wife speaks the truth, and rarely have I heard such a lovely song. Thranduil closed his eyes, tilted his head back, inhaled the sweet, clean air of his cousin’s realm. For the next three weeks, he and Bard didn’t have to be Kings, they were simply two fathers on a holiday.

***************

“Oh, there he is! There he is!” Rhian cried out with joy, as Turamarth came into her line of sight.

Daeron loved watching her emerald green eyes widen in amazement as they entered the Gates of the Golden Wood. Her reaction to the sights and wonders of Lothlórien was everything he had hoped for, and his heart stirred with love and pride. Long had he dreamed of bringing his _Hind Calen_ here, and after the days of celebration were over, he planned to take her by the hand and show her his favorite streams and pools and fill her thick curls with Elanor blossoms. 

Up ahead, his King appeared to relish Lord Bard’s reaction to this wondrous place. He moved _Naurmôr_ closer to _Fînlossen_ and took the King of Dale’s hand to kiss. Bard threw back his head and laughed, and went back to taking in the sights. 

He was tempted to ask his wife to wake the baby up so he could see, but decided to let peace and quiet prevail. Darryn was wonderful for the first eleven days and nights during their trip, but alas, even good little boys have a limit, and for the last three days, his waking hours were a misery. Bless his Elven companions who were patient and managed to soothe the restless and cranky child.

At last, after another two hours, the party arrived at their destination.

From his perch atop Aegis, Daeron located Tur standing tall and proud with his unit, and his heart nearly burst with happiness. His cousin caught his eye and his face lit up with a huge smile. Ah, the year had truly been good for him, though he would only find true joy after he married his bond-mate.

A true Elven joining was what he wanted for his _Gwador_, and he prayed that Turamarth would have the same powerful experience that he shared with Rhian. Only then would he truly stop worrying.

_Please…_ he prayed, looking up to the sky. _Please, let him have this…_

The short ceremony was over, and the crowds surged forward to mingle in a delightful muddle of hugs, kisses and joyful tears. Tur rushed to the wagon, effortlessly lifted Rhian out of the wagon and whirled her around as he hugged her tight. Daeron jumped from his saddle and ran to meet their embrace.

_“Na mhedui!”_ he cried, returning Tur’s embrace. _“Gwannas lûmh and.”_

“I missed your ugly face, as well.” Tur laughed as he wiped his eyes. “Where is he?” he asked. “Please tell me you brought him?”

Rhian’s mouth lifted in a half-smile as her thumb pointed toward the wagon. “Go get him!”

Tur grinned as he lifted the sleeping boy and gracefully jumped to the ground. Darryn stirred with a small whine as he blinked himself awake. His little brows furrowed as he contemplated the weeping Elf who held him.

A spark of recognition lit in his eyes. “Unca Tur?” he said sleepily.

“Yes,” Turamarth laughed. “How you have grown, _Pînig!”_

“Unca Tur!” the boy shrieked and wiggled until his little arms were around his uncle’s neck. 

He tousled the boy’s hair. “I have missed you, child.”

“You went away,” Darryn’s lower lip wobbled.

“I know, and I am sorry, for that.”

“If I come back, would you forgive me?”

“Uh huh,” the little boy wiped his eyes and pouted. “C’n you get me a pony?”

“Darryn!” Rhian laughed.

“I will do more than that,” Tur promised, “I will get you a new Aunt _and_ a pony!” Then he blew a raspberry into his neck, making the Darryn giggle.

They were interrupted by their parents. Indis and Ómar greeted their son with tears of joy, and Idril and Adamar stood next to them, waiting for their own hugs. 

Their family was together again at last, and would soon grow bigger. A lump grew in Daeron’s throat, just as a warm body was pressed into his side. 

“All right, babe?” Rhian smiled up at him. 

“I am wonderful,” he kissed her forehead.

“Rhian!” Evvy picked up her skirts and ran over to them. “I am so happy to see you!” 

“Rhian threw herself into Evvy’s arm with a tearful embrace. “You look radiant!” she cried and grasped the _Elleth_’s hands. “Has our _Gwador_ truly made you this happy?”

“More than you can possibly know,” Evvy grinned from ear to ear. “And your Sindarin has improved! There is hardly a trace of an accent!”

“Thank you,” she said modestly. “I’ve been working on it.”

“Darryn is picking it up, too, so my wife and I can no longer speak Sindarin to keep him from guessing what we are saying.”

“Oh, dear,” Evvy laughed.

“Lothlórien is everything you told me it was! I think my neck is going to hurt from looking up at those trees, it is so beautiful.”

“I am so glad you like it,” the _Elleth’s_ eyes brightened. “I asked Lady Galadriel if I could take you to your rooms, so we could visit. Tur has Darryn, I see, and he will be along shortly. Please, come with me.” 

Daeron enjoyed the lively chatter between is wife and future in-law, as he followed them around the Forest Floor. When they reached a guest house lower to the ground that most of the other houses Evvy told them, “Tur and was worried about Darryn, so we arranged for you to have this _Talon_. He and Rúmil put up the guardrails a few weeks ago. I am afraid you will need to watch him carefully, as I am sure little boys are not used to such heights.”

“Do not worry,” Daeron said. “I asked the Tannery in Dale to make a special harness that will attach to my belt so even if he falls, it will not be far.”

“Knowing _our_ son, he’ll turn it into a game and dive off on purpose,” Rhian sighed.

“The boy is fearless,” Daeron grinned. “This summer, I strapped him to my back and took him for a run through the treetops.”

“Which means his mother’s hair will turn white before he turns six years old.” Rhian rolled her eyes. “Come on; the servants have brought our trunks already so let’s get unpacked and get ready for the Feast tonight.”

“I will see you there!” Evvy waved goodbye and went back to the activities.

The Elf gathered his wife in his arms and whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Rhian whispered back.

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Erbain nîn – _My Fair One

_Gwannas lûmh and_ – It has been too long.

_Lorda_ – Lazy

_Ion-nauth - _Son of my heart

_Gîl-Naur_ – Sun-Star, the necklace given to Tur by Galadriel to bring him help.

_Gîl-Cýron_ \- Moon Star, Evvy’s necklace made by Nienna and the now-redeemed Saeros.

_Na mhedui!_ – At last!

**NOTES:**

[1] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 33: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/57204004>

[2] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 39: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/60744946>

[3] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 38: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/37497905>


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this final chapter of Part V, we finally, FINALLY have a wedding!!
> 
> And a wedding night…
> 
> Tur is terrified. After everything, will he disappoint them both?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, guys! I hope it was worth the wait...

_“In my life there's been heartache and pain  
I don't know if I can face it again  
Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life_

_I want to know what love is, I want you to show me  
I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me…”_

_ By** Foreigner** _

**Lothlórien, 20th of August 2946 T.A.**

The night before the nuptials, and for the first time in Lothlórien’s long history, a ‘Stag Night,’ for a prospective Groom was held in the Golden Wood. Haldir, having enjoyed this indulgence at Daeron’s wedding (and who was always looking for an excuse to inflict his concoction on others), was especially generous. As was expected, the merriment that lasted long into the night was followed by agony in the morning. 1

During that ruckus, the Lady of Light, acting Mother of the Bride, hosted a party just for the female friends and acquaintances of the bride. Fortunately for Evvy’s party, Galadriel had long ago banned the Marchwarden’s vintage from her home, so the _Ellyth _and Women were in no danger of any similar misfortune. 

Still, once her party broke up, she prepared herself.

Her first ‘patient’ was Celeborn. Three hours before dawn, the Lord of Lothlorien was dragged up to their _Talon _between two bemused Sentinels, and singing the filthiest song she had ever heard at the top of his lungs. King Thranduil was close behind him, and his baritone harmony did nothing but add to the spectacle. Feren’s efforts to support his king were hampered by his own impaired state, which only made more work for Ruvyn and Elion. Bard was easier to deal with; he was passed out cold, and when Ivran carried him in over his shoulders, the King of Dale was snoring loudly and drooling a bit.

“Please take the Kings to their room, and make sure there are waste cans near the side of the bed,” she ordered. “I will attend to them soon. Do you know where Rôgon and Galion are staying?”

Warden Lindo saluted her. “Rôg wished to stay with Lord Galion at his former home.”

“Thank you. Send a message for Master Gilfanon to attend them right away and have him brought here to attend to his King.”

“That might pose a problem,” Lindo winced. “The Master, as well as Penlod and Orlin are passed out just outside your east garden; we planned to pick them up next.”

“Surely, you jest!”

“I wish I were, My Lady. It will take us hours to pick up the bodies.”

With a disgusted sigh, she said, “Well, our first priority is the Groom. Find out where Turamarth landed and take him to Mithrandir immediately. After you make sure the rest of our guests are in their proper places, gather the Galadhrim and leave them by the Fountain on the Forest Floor. They are well-acquainted with of the Marchwarden’s wine; they brought on themselves.”

The Warden’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you, My Lady.”

Galadriel pursed her lips to hide her smile and turned to her personal bodyguards, “Has Lord Celeborn been put to bed?”

“He has, My Lady.”

“Thank you.”

Celeborn was flopped face down on the bed, still humming when she entered their room, and he greeted her with a cheerful leer. “There is my Maiden with the Golden Crown!”

“You only call me thus when you are feeling amorous,” Galadriel pursed her lips. “Nothing will be happening in this bed tonight but sleeping.”

“But I am feeling amorous.”

“Only you could make the word ‘amorous’ sound sexy, _Meleth nîn_.” She pulled off his boots, got him out of his leggings and tunic, and tucked him in. 

“It is all about the tone of voice,” he chuckled sleepily. “I was singing.”

“I noticed, as did most of the City,” she said wryly. “It is a good thing most of our Elves do not understand Westron.”

“I believe I like these… these…”

“’Stag Nights?”

“Yes, that is it!” his arm swept out gaily. 

“What you like, my darling husband, is Haldir’s wine, but you always threaten to set fire to his vineyard the following day.” She kissed his brow, and murmured a few words of Quenya. “I must attend some more victims. Go to sleep.”

“As you wish,” he mumbled, and drifted off.

***************

**21st of August 2946 T.A.**

At the wedding, Celeborn’s posture gave no indication he had spent the first few hours of that day wishing his head would just explode and be done with it, though the slightly greenish tinge to his face gave it away. Galadriel could have helped him with that, but decided he needed to learn his lesson.

At this moment, all her attention was given to the lovely bride and her tall groom with rich, mahogany hair. Evranin Ohtariel was stunning in light green silk, her hair (style by herself) was enhanced by white gems that sparkled in the sun. Tur was dressed in a new green tunic and leggings, a gift from Commander Feren’s wife.

Evvy’s dark brown eyes glowed with pure joy, as she stood by her father and brother, and repeated Mithrandir’s words full of promise to her Captain. At the appointed time, Daeron_ presented_ Tur with Evvy’s ring, the same gold band which had once belonged to her mother, Vériel. Some weeks ago, Evvy requested this, and Tur had supported her choice and chose a similar plain ring for himself.

What the couple didn’t know was that Galadriel had asked the jewel-smith to carve a special crest of her own design on both of them: a silver bird clutching an arrow in its claws, as it in the light of both the Sun and the Moon; the crest of the House of the Dove. The true significance if this would be revealed much later. For now, Elrond had advised that the young couple be convinced that this award was given simply because Evranin was the Ward of Galadriel. 

When Tur took the ring, kissed it, and slipped it onto Evvy’s finger, he noticed the engraving, glanced up at Galadriel and Mithrandir, and whispered, “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my boy,” the Wizard smile. “Now repeat after me.”

The Captain spoke the words of commitment and devotion in a strong, sure voice, as tears dropped from his chin. Evvy smiled up at him, then wiped his cheeks with the same handkerchief given to her by Nienna. 2 Orlin gave Evvy Tur’s ring and she did the same as she placed it on his finger.

The Lady of Light stepped forward and said. “As Evranin’s foster-mother, it is tradition that I present a gift to Turamarth. However, there could be none greater than the jewel, he now wears, which was bequeathed to him by my daughter, Lady Celebrian, at the behest of _Eru_ _Ilúvitar_ himself. The _Gîl-Naur _bears the strength and steadfastness of Arien, the Keeper of _Anor _who brings the sun across the sky every day without fail. 3 Evranin was also given a great jewel: the _Gîl-cýron, _made from a tear of the Vala Nienna, is a sign to us all of her comfort, hope, and wisdom. Just as the we share in Anor’s warmth this afternoon, let us also treasure the silver light of the Moon, and remember all the blessings from Tilion, its keeper.” 4

Ómar stepped forward with their family’s cord and wrapped around the couples joined hands. Then Óhtar did the same with the cord that was an heirloom in his family.

Galadriel and Mithrandir placed her hands the bonded couple, along with their families, invoked the name and blessings of _Eru_ _Ilúvitar_ over their union, and they were married.

When Tur cupped Evvy’s face with love in his eyes, the Lady of Light’s vision blurred. They must have kissed, but she couldn’t quite see.

Strong, loving arms came around her from behind, and wrapped around her waist. “It was a beautiful ceremony, _Alatáriel nîn_.” 5

“It was,” she dabbed at her eyes. “Evranin was almost as lovely as Celebrian on her wedding day.”

Celeborn kissed her just below her earlobe and whispered. “I was thinking of her, as well. Will you be all right after Evranin leaves us?”

“It was good to feel like a mother again,” she admitted, “but our _Aewpin_ must go and live her own destiny.”

“I think she helped you as much as you helped her, _Meleth nîn_,” Celeborn rested his chin on her shoulder. 

“Perhaps,” She wiped her eyes and turned her head to give Celeborn a soft kiss. “I see you are still a bit wobbly.”

“I would have liked a day or two to recover before this. Why could we not have postponed the ceremony?”

“You know they must be married on _this_ date,” she smiled. “That was a wild party last night.”

“I am told Tur’s Stag Night was not nearly as rambunctious as Daeron’s.”

“Dare I ask?” Galadriel chin lifted in surprise.

“That event included Dwarves and a belching contest.”

The Lady twisted in her arms to stare up at him. Celeborn’s eyes danced as he tucked in his lips to stifle a grin. Galadriel’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a guffaw, and the tears of joy were soon replaced by tears of laughter. She threw back her head and laughed like she had not done in an exceptionally long time.

During the Feast, Turamarth and Evranin could barely keep their eyes off each other as toasts were made and drunk to their health, their happiness, their children, and their children’s children.

Galadriel studied the groom carefully as he talked with his wedding guests. He was still a bit delicate from his revelries of the night before, but while his smile and laugh were genuine, there was anxiety in eyes.

Turamarth was speaking with Ruvyn when he sensed her concern, and met her eyes, and patches of red appeared in his cheeks.

Mithrandir came over to her. “You see it, as well?” he asked.

Her chin lowered in a slight nod. “Will he be all right?”

“Who can say?” The Wizard’s shoulders rounded in a nervous shrug. 

“We have done all we can do, _Mellon_ _nîn_._”_

“But they must join, _tonight!”_ Mithrandir groaned in frustration. “To delay even a day would be too late! Have you heard from Elrond?”

“I have, and the message from Palantir at _Emyn Beraid_ is the same.” 6

“I hate keeping something like this from them—”

“I do not like this manipulation either,” Galadriel put her hand on his arm, “but we agreed it is better this way. This must come naturally, or all will be for naught.”

“Blast!” he sputtered. “There must be something more we can do! Where is Evranin?”

“Over there,” she jerked her chin to the left, “speaking with Daeron’s wife.”

Evvy was deep into a whispered conversation with Rhian at another table. The woman’s face was animated and eager, waving her hands as Evvy, eyes like saucers, was blushing, but she nodded attentively here and there, and a hint of eager mischief sparkled in her eyes.

Galadriel gave the Wizard a gentle nudge with her elbow. “Help often comes from unexpected places, does it not?”

Mithrandir clapped his hands together with glee, then and asked the Lady of Light to dance.

***************

Just before the ceremony, before they emerged from their small tent, Daeron embraced him and said, “I will say to you with the same love you have for me, Tur: ‘No tears; this is a happy day.’” 7

“It is,” Tur’s voice cracked. “I want this more than I have ever wanted anything. I love her, _Gwador_.”

“I know,” Daeron clasped his shoulder and lifted the tent flap. “It is time Tur; your life is waiting.”

Tur remembered almost nothing of the ceremony; he was lost in the bottomless pools of Evranin’s coffee-colored eyes, with no desire to come up for air. Something about music, words, then his lips were on hers and he came back to himself with a ring on his finger and their hands bound to each other.

With a shy laugh, he gazed into his new wife’s eyes. “We are wed, _Erbain nîn_.”

She smiled up at him with trusting eyes. “Almost.”

_Almost. _The confidence drained from him like water in a sieve. 

_Ai, natho…_

But there was no more time to think, as he was surrounded by his friends and family, and for the next several hours, he put it out of his mind.

But the Lady was watching him, and so was Mithrandir, both with concern in their eyes.

_That is the last thing I need,_ he thought with gritted teeth, and wished they would turn their attentions elsewhere. Thankfully he was distracted by Darryn, who darted between the guests to reach him, wanting to be picked up. 

With each salute, with each smile, anxiety grew in Turamarth’s chest. 

Thee hours later, with a final wave good-night, the last of the guests had left the area, and they were alone at last.

“It is a beautiful night, _Hervenn nîn_.” Evvy smiled up at him with her arms around his waist.

“Not as beautiful as you, my wife.” He lifted his hand and ran his fingers softly along her hairline. “Evvy,” he said in a shaky voice. “I want… so much…”

“Shhh…” she placed her finger on over his lips to silence him. “It will be all right, Tur.”

“But what if I cannot—”

“Ah, ah,” she covered his mouth with her entire hand this time, and stared deep into his eyes. “Do you trust me, Turamarth, love of my life?”

_“Mrrf urff ooh,”_ he mumbled.

“Sorry,” she snickered, and lowered her hand. “Now I repeat, and must have your honest answer, Tur: Do. You. Trust. Me?”

“I trust you, Evvy, you know I do, but—”

“Silence!” she commanded in a tone he had never heard.

Stunned, he complied. Evvy took his hand, opened the door to the cottage and led him inside. 

The cottage was charming, the candlelight made shadows that danced over the rough stone walls in a soft, golden glow. It was larger than Lord Bard’s hunting lodge, and had a living/kitchen area, and two bedrooms with a privy off at the end of the hall.

“Which room is ours?” he asked, but he needn’t have bothered. Evvy led him around the comfortable couch and chairs and took him into the first room. Their bags had been unpacked, their personal things were set out on the dresser and the vanity, and the bed—

The bed was large, surrounded by sheer white curtains. 

_Their bed. _

His stomach lurched. 

_Oh, no…_

Evvy turned to him and said, “Kiss me, Tur. Now.”

He bent his head, and let his lips rest against hers in a gentle, slow kiss. Before he had a chance to pull back, her hands snaked around to the back of his neck and kept him there. Her lips parted and she pushed her tongue into his mouth with a small, soft moan. Tur opened for her and began to explore her mouth. She tasted of wine, fruit and honey from their wedding cake. With a groan, he bent slightly, tightened his arms, and lifted her up to kiss her again, as her hands tangled in his hair.

When they finally came up for air, chuckled. “Hello, my wife.”

“Hello, my husband,” Evvy’s eyes never left his as her fingers undid the laces of his silk tunic. “This is lovely, Tur.”

“Commander Feren’s wife made it as a wedding gift; she was unable to come so she sent it with him.”

“I love it,” she said, “but I will like it better when it is off.” Careful not to tear it, she lifted the tunic over his head and left him bare-chested. 

After carefully folding it and putting on the dresser, she turned her back. “Now undo me.”

Tur’s fingers were steady when he did the first few buttons, but as he made his way down her back, they began to shake, and his breath grew ragged. He wanted this more than anything, but what if those terrible dreams came back when he finally had her body underneath his?

Stifling a sob, he dropped his hands and stepped back. “I am sorry, Evvy. I…”

“Take a deep breath, Tur,” Evvy said softly. “It will be all right. Just trust me, like I asked.”

He did as he was told, then resumed his task. Another button… another…

“I love you, Tur.”

“I love you, too,” he managed to say, as his fingers undid the last button. “Daeron told me Rhian’s dress had forty-five buttons on it!”

“Oh, dear,” Evvy giggled. “That must have been torture.”

“My _Gwathel_ has a sick sense of humor.” He ran his hands over her upper back pulled the dress off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Underneath, was a white cotton shift. He lifted his hands to remove that too, but she crossed her hands over her chest.

“No.”

“No?”

“Not yet,” Evvy took him by the hands, led him to the bed and sat him down. “Stay there.”

“What are you—”

“Shh!” she pressed her finger against his lips again. “Wait.” Evvy leaned over him and did something with the pillows, and said. “I need you to sit up here,” she patted the spot in the center.

“Why?”

“Because you said you trust me.” As she eased him into the center of the bed, a strap of her shift slipped off, revealing a smooth creamy shoulder.

“Your skin is like satin,” he breathed.

“Thank you, _Naur nîn_,” she said coyly, “but if you do not do as you are told, you will never touch it.”

His eyes blinked for a moment, then he scooted into position like a flash. 

“Give me your hand,” she whispered.

Spellbound, his hand reached for hers of its own volition. “Trust me, Turamarth,” she whispered in a low seductive voice, as she reached for something under the pillow behind his back. “Close your eyes, and do not open them until I tell you.”

“I love you, Tur,” she said again, as warm lips kissed his palm and soft, smooth cloth surrounded his wrist. “Tell me you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Say it again.” The fabric of her shift rustled, and her voice now came from his left and she grabbed his other hand.

“I trust you, Evvy. And I love you.”

“You may open your eyes now.”

Both his hands were tied to the headboard with red silk scarves. 

“Uh…. This is… unexpected.”

“Exactly,” she said lightly, as she bent over to kiss him again. “There is only the two of us in this room, in our marriage bed. This night, my husband,” she murmured as she bit his lower lip, “belongs to no one but _you_ and _me. _Do I make myself clear?”

All he could do was nod, as she stood, pulled down the thin straps, let the cotton gown fall, and let him absorb the sight of her naked body

  
His eyes traveled over her lightly freckled shoulders to the smooth skin of her chest. The white gem sparkled on its silver chain and hung just above her breasts, which were soft and round and peaked with the most beautiful pink nipples he could have envisioned. Her slim waist gracefully curved downward like an hourglass, and – what was that? His mouth watered as he saw the tiny reddish birthmark on her left hip, that was waiting to be kissed. At the apex of her long, long legs was his prize; the mound of flesh and silky folds of skin that held a treasure that was meant for him. And he wanted to worship that body.

A blast of heat slammed into his chest, and a spark of desire came to life in his groin. With each twitch of his increasingly interested cock, the flame grew. 

“You are stunning, _Erbain nîn_,” Tur murmured prayerfully, and his words turned into a moan as cock hardened and painfully pushed against the fabric of his leggings. He squirmed and strained against his bindings. “Please…”

Evvy slipped out of her shoes, and crawled to him on all fours. “Are you in distress, my husband?” she smirked, as she pulled off his boots and socks.

“Mmmm….” He panted. 

“Shall I…” her eyes widened in innocence, “take these leggings off?”

_“A, ma! Gin iallon!”_ he rasped.

His wife made swift work of his clothes, and tossed them on the floor. When his rigid cock sprang free, his head sank back in relief, but was soon followed by a crippling wave of vulnerability, and his body grew tense again and the intimate exposure.

His teeth clenched in frustration and anger, as he felt his member soften. _No… please no… _

Overcome with shame and disappointment, he squeezed his eyes tighter, yet a small tear escaped. But suddenly his body jolted back to life as moist heat surrounded his cock. Tur’s eyes flew open to see Evvy’s full, pink lips moving over him, consuming him.

“Evvy!” he gasped in shock. “You—. _Nnnnng!” _Words were not possible after that. Her fingers held his shaft and moved up and down, as her tongue licked under his foreskin, kissed, and teased the underside of its head until he felt the room spin. Animal-like noises flew from his mouth as his hips gyrated in a delicious agony, but when her hand moved to softly cup his balls, he had to jerk himself away.

“Please, _Erbain nîn_,” he croaked. “You must stop, or I will not last. Please!”

She released him with a loud pop. “So… you liked it?” She crawled forward and gave him keep kiss. She tasted of _him._

“Liked it? _Liked it?”_ he shook his head and laughed. “You are amazing!”

But his Evvy was still in control. She grabbed his chin, and looked deep into his eyes. “Tell me you want to be one with me, Turamarth. Say it!”

“Evranin,” his breath caught. “I love you, and want you with everything that I am. My body, my life, my spirit belongs to you and no other. Please, let my _fëa_ touch yours and make me whole.”

Her mouth lurched forward to capture his in a hard kiss that made his toes curl. He was so lost in the feel of their tongues sliding together that he hardly noticed when she moved to straddle his hips. When Evvy broke the kiss she was poised above him, his cock about to enter her most sacred place. Her eyes never wavered from his, as she slowly lowered herself down. Trembling, he let out a long, low moan as she lowered herself onto him, and for an instant a flash of memory of Pallando’s curse threatened to overtake him.

But it wasn’t real. Tur’s eyes darted from her gaze to quickly land on the birthmark on her hip. Nowhere in those torturous visions did that mark appear on her body. _This_ was the real Evvy. The mouth that kissed and nipped at his neck was real. The fingers that dug into his shoulders were real. The beautiful little cries and gasps that fell from her lips were real. There was no heat in the vision; but there was fire inside Evvy’s body, meant only for him.

With a soft sigh, Evvy moved her hips and adjusted to his thickness. “We are One at last, _Naur nîn.”_

After another glance at her crimson circle on her left hip, his eyes lifted at met her velvet ones. “I love you so much,” he murmured.

Her response was to lean forward and offer him her breast. He eagerly took her nipple in his mouth and gently suckled as her hips began to move up and down. With a groan his teeth grazed her nipple until it became a hard pebble in his mouth. 

_“A ma, Tur!”_ she cried. Her movements were slow and careful at first, then harder. Fingers tangled in his hair and pulled it, as the sound of her deep, soft moan sent lightning bolts through him. He bent his knees and thrust his hips up to meet her. Evvy sobbed with pleasure and she lowered her mouth the tips of his ear and sucked. 

Turamarth’s hands strained against the scarves as his body writhed in a pleasure he had never imagined. “Evvy,” he croaked. “Please, _Meleth nîn_… Look at me. I am going to come and need…” he panted. “Oh…”

Her noises grew more urgent, as put their foreheads together and looked deep into his eyes. Her mouth formed a large O of astonished pleasure as their bodies slammed together with increasing speed.

There was the light, the glow Daeron told him about. Oh, praise Varda and all the Valar… Evvy’s _fëa, all that she was and would ever be,_ was there for him, his for the taking and it was astounding. Turamarth’s _fëa_ was there, too, and for a spit second, he was afraid. Was it still too damaged? Could he be enough for her?

A undulating shaft of golden light rose before him like smoke from a candle that had just been put out. Below his line of vision, Evvy’s necklace lit up like star and another tendril of light – this one pure silver – rose from the _Gîl-Cýron. _Before their eyes, gold and silver swirled and whirled around each other in an erotic dance. 

The heat grew in his groin, sending shockwaves to his tailbone and traveled up his spine. “_Erbain nîn_, _tolen min!” _he shrieked, as tears fell from his eyes unchecked. Evvy’s eyes were full of love and acceptance and…

Joy, in its purest form.

The gold and silver shafts of light joined together and Evvy let out a cry of ecstasy that threatened to drown his own screams. They came at the exact same time, bathed blinding light as two _fëas_ became one, yet her eyes were still before him, full of so much joy he wept at the sight of it. White light became colorful stars that fell around them as she held them together. 

This beloved, dark-eyed _Elleth_ had just become his home.

“How did my hands get free?” he whispered later, as he held her in his arms and ran his fingers through the soft, icy-blonde waves. “I do not remember.”

Evranin lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest. “I cut your bonds just before… _it_ happened.”

“Wh…” he glanced right and left. The red scarves were sliced neatly. “Where was the knife? And where did those scarves come from?”

“I hid them earlier, while you were talking with Lord Celeborn and King Thranduil.” She bit her bottom lip nervously. “I… hope you are not angry, Tur. I know you wanted this just as much as I did…” her eyes quickly flew to his. “Not that I doubted _you._ It is just that this night is special, and I could not bear the thought of anything that might ruin it for you.”

He caressed her cheek with the palm. “You did this for me?”

“I would do _anything_ for you,” she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “I wanted nothing to keep us from the joy of that moment. What happened to you – to us – was extreme, so…” she winced, “I asked Rhian for help?”

“You did _what?”_ he propped up on his elbows. “This was all Rhian’s idea?”

“Well, who else would understand such things?” she lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. “I took her aside after the wedding and asked her for advice. It was she who suggested I take everything I saw in the Lady’s Mirror and do the opposite.” 

“That…,” he paused to consider, “makes sense, actually.”

Her her fingers traveled over the hard muscles of his stomach, traced the V-shaped line at his hips and settled over the heavy mass at his groin, “So you were surprised?”

“’Surprised?’” he squeaked. “I was completely shocked! My shy little bird was as bold as a harlot from the villages of Men! I had no idea you were capable of such wanton behavior!”

“Oh…” her face fell, and her eyes began to fill. “Rhian told me she and Daeron love playing like that, and I just thought—”

“No, no, no!” Tur grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her against him. “You misunderstand me, _Erbain nîn_. It was not expecting anything like that, but… I _liked_ it!”

“Are you sure?” Evvy blinked. “Because, but if you do not want to— _Mmmmmrrrrrff!”_

Her last words were stifled by Tur’s mouth and tongue, and soon muffled words turned into yearning moans.

"I will prove to you how much I liked it," he said. With a loud grunt, he flipped Evvy onto her back. “Now,” he growled, “It is _my _turn to make _you_ scream.” 

Tur kissed his way down her neck and took a rosy nipple in her mouth, working it mercilessly between his teeth and his tongue until she couldn’t remain still. His hand cupped her other breast, enjoyed the soft mound of flesh, just before he pinched her other nipple.

_“A, Tur!” _she gasped, squirming. 

He lifted his head and leered. “I have always wondered how you taste, _Erbain nîn_.” And with that, he let his tongue trail slowly down to her stomach, and after playing with her navel for a moment, licked his way down to the soft folds that were swollen and wet, ready for him.

After peppering her inner thighs with light kisses, Evvy arched her back in frustration. “Please, Tur! Please!”

“Do you want me to stop?” he teased.

“No!“ she whined, and lifted her hips up and spread her thighs. “Hurry, or I shall burst!”

He licked each pink fold and then started to torture her the small nub of flesh as he inserted two fingers and curled them forward. Evvy’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and her hands grabbed at the sheets as if to keep from drowning. She tried to form words, but all she could manage were cries, which turned to moans, which turned to shrieks, which ultimately turned to screams. And he reveled in it, in her taste, her smell and the feel of her pulsing around his fingers. Evvy’s powerful orgasm pulsed through his own body as well, and his entire body tensed as his hips thrust down into the mattress, enjoying the friction on his cock.

When at last she collapsed back on the pillows, she was limp and panting. _“Gellon n’i iuithog i lebir gîn…”_ she mumbled

“I like this side of you,” he studied the birthmark on her hip, and kissed it. “Who would have thought my sweet bride was such a hedonist?”

Evvy threw her arm over her eyes and struggled to get her breathing under control. “I am not the only one full of surprises this night,” she panted. 

“Oh, you mean what I just did?” one corner of his mouth slid upwards and winked. “Daeron and I were talking, and…”

With a gasp, her arm flew off her face and sat up. “Turamarth!”

“If you are disappointed,” he teased, “I will not do it again.”

She smacked him with a pillow. “Bite your tongue.”

“What happened to the shy, broken bird I first met?”

Evvy let go of the pillow and raised her hand to stroke his face. “We were both broken, _Meleth nîn, _now we can truly fly.”

“Yes, we can,” he said. “Together, we can do anything.”

_“Anything?” _One of her dark brows lifted.

Tur lifted her hand from his cheek and placed a kiss on its palm. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

Evvy’s gaze rested upon his painfully hard cock. “Perhaps you could put that _Gwîb_ to good use and _puith_ me again?”

“On one condition.”

“What is that, my love?”

He moved up to hover over his wife, then kissed her softly as he entered her. “You let me count your freckles.”

And Turamarth, son of Ómar, without fear or hesitation, made love to his wife.

It was beautiful.

They spent the next seven days and nights exploring the delights of wedding bliss, bathing naked in the pool, kissing under the waterfall, and letting their bodies dry in the sun.

By the end of that week, Tur counted (and kissed) not only the freckles on his wife’s nose, but over her entire body.

***************

**Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien, 21st of August 2946 T.A., Just before midnight**

“Pacing with do no good, Mithrandir,” Galadriel said from her perch on Celeborn’s lap. 

Gandalf’s hands were behind his back as he traveled the entire length of the Lord and Lady’s balcony, high in the trees. He would stop every once in while and look up to the skies.

Below them, the party that left clearing near the Marchwarden’s cottage earlier that day was brought to the city and was still in full swing. The Kings from the North were down there mingling with their friends and enjoying this rare break from Royal duty.

“It is out of our hands, _Mellon_ _nîn_.” Galadriel kissed her husband again and went to join the Wizard, covering his cool hand with hers. “Whatever happens, we will still do our best.”

Mithrandir stroked his beard thoughtfully, closed his eyes and murmured another prayer.

“Look!” Celeborn on his feet, pointing to the clear night sky. 

A shadow slowly moving over the full moon.

“Behold!” the Wizard bellowed throughout the City, stunning its citizens, including those making merry into complete silence. All eyes turned first to the Lord and Lady’s balcony, up, up beyond the high trees, and into the sky, where Tilion held the Moon for all to see as it changed. 8

But on this night, Tilion’s moon was not silver, but red.

A Blood Moon.9

To most inhabitants of Middle Earth, it was an omen, but to those who bore the Three Elven Rings of Power, it was sign of hope from the _Ilúvitar _himself. Trouble was indeed coming, but so was help from a place not even Sauron could guess.

“Praise the Valar!” The Wizard slumped into a nearby chair and covered his eyes. 

~Fin~

~The Two Thrones Saga continues in Part IV~

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_A, ma! - _Oh yes!

_Gin iallon! _–I beg you!

_Ai, natho…_ – Oh, help…

_Alatáriel nîn _– My Maiden Crowned with a Radiant Garland

_Erbain nîn – _My Fair One

_Erbain nîn_, _tolen min! _– I am coming, my fair one!

_Gellon n’i iuithog i lebir gîn_ – I love it when you use your fingers

_Gîl-Naur_ – Sun-Star, the necklace given to Tur by Galadriel to bring him help.

_Gîl-Cýron_ \- Moon Star, Evvy’s necklace made by Nienna and the now-redeemed Saeros.

_Gwîb _– Penis (Honest!)

_Hervenn nîn – _My husband

_Hervess nîn _– My wife

_Naur nîn_ – My Sun

_Puith_ \- Fuck

**NOTES:**

[1] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 54: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/39824019>

[2] _Broken Wings_, Ch. 26: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519588/chapters/54434116>

[3] <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Sun>

[4] <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Moon>

[5] “Alatáriel was the Telerin Quenya name given to Galadriel by Celeborn, meaning "Maiden Crowned with Radiant Garland", which referred to her hair” <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Galadriel#Names>

[6] <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Emyn_Beraid>

[7] _An Invincible Summer_, Ch. 55: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/39993237>

[8] <http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Moon>

[9] A Blood Moon, is the phenomenon whereby the moon in total eclipse appears reddish in color as it is illuminated by sunlight filtered and refracted by the earth's atmosphere.


	46. ***Humble thoughts of Gratitude & Excerpt From Part VI***

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are finished with Part V, “Broken Wings,” so let’s get ready to start Part VI, “Sweet Child of Mine.” 🥳🥳🥳
> 
> To keep up with my little story and not miss a thing, I recommend subscribing to Wenderful52’s username. I hope you do, because I’ve got lots of plans for our merry band, during this year’s holidays! 
> 
> See you there!
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️

  
To say I am grateful to my loyal readers can’t begin to describe the warmth and support you have given me throughout this adventure. “My Little Story” has grown beyond my wildest imaginings, and bless you for sticking with me, through good times and bad. I have done my best to keep a regular posting schedule, and for the most part I have stuck with it, and I don’t mind saying I’m proud of that.

I have tried to make sure everyone is included here, and include links to other writers on AO3. If I have missed any PLEASE, let me know!

In _Broken Wings_, Part V of my Two Thrones series, I want to especially thank the following people for your kind words, your compliments, your suggestions, and it only tells me how invested you are with my characters, which is the highest compliment any writer could ever receive!

Bagofangrykittens – who is a lot more fun than her name suggests…

BooksnGuns – your comments are always such a riot!

DarkenedProngs – sending you virtual kisses for sticking with me

Dmaddruid – have you guys met Deirdre? She’s new, but fascinating! So glad you’ve joined us!

Golden – who has excellent taste in music (Classic Rock, same as me) and gives me wonderful lyric suggestions for each chapter.

Gouniversefanuniverse – Thanks for you sweet words, and for catching that ridiculous typo in Chapter 6! It was funny!

[Kayakaari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayakaari/pseuds/kayakaari) – who has read my series more than once – what a compliment! She writes in the Harry Potter fandom

Kyuumihaira – who has a crush on Tur and is making sure I treat him right!

Leemitage -Superfan Extraordinaire, AND SHE ACTUALLY LIVES IN MIDDLE EARTH, you guys! We’re not worthy!

Less – But in your case, less is definitely more, my dear

[Levana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levana/pseuds/Levana) – your enthusiasm was one of the things that kept me going during this difficult year… (And she writes! Take a look!)

Littbrat – a great gal from the Southern USA, and has become a friend to my daughter

Mirimi – who was always pulling for Rhian and Evvy to find happiness; hope you are pleased!

[Morvidra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvidra/pseuds/Morvidra) – my good pal from Down Under – I love her detailed comments and feedback! She has 15 works in the Tolkien universe; take a few minutes to have a peek.

Nafrotiel – a wonderful Barduil fan and is happy for Tur and Evvy. She and Feren’s wife had a lot in common this time… Congratulations!

[NightingalesAndHandGrenades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingalesandhandgrenades/pseuds/NightingalesAndHandGrenades) – fascinating username for a fascinating person! Love you!

PirateLawrence – LOVE your creative comments! *waves*

[Sage105](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sage105/pseuds/Sage105) – one of Hilda’s biggest fans! Also writes in The Witcher fandom…

Sebby1027 – so glad you like the pics! You’re a sweetheart!

Tildatheflowergirl – a wonderful fan came to us from FFN

Unicorn682006 – who left me such a sweet comment last chapter! So glad to meet you!

vanessaSU – our friend from China (thanks, Google Translate) who had some very generous things to say

[Winter_Genisis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_Genisis/pseuds/Winter_Genisis) – who told me Two Thrones were a bright spot in her day and week. I’m verklempt! She has several original works on AO3 you might like.

[Yoshiaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoshiaki/pseuds/Yoshiaki) – another fan of Tur, who also writes some great stuff!

***************

I also want to thank the 80 guests who left me kudos on _Broken Wings, _along with some special friends:

Adana

Bagofangrykittens

Cheap_Oracle

DarkenedProngs

dmaddruidd

Elizabeth_Carey

goldengurl90

gouniversefanuniverse

jessieb, Dazeedeitz

kayakaari

Klaisk

Kyuumihaira

LadyAurelia

Leemitage

Less

Littbrat

maddy12345

Meh_idk_anymore

Mirimi

MoonWolf17

Morvidra

myway

Oceansandconstellations

Pirategal90

PirateLawrence

Rhe123

Sage105

SeraWinterra

TheQueeninMourningHasASecret

Tildatheflowergirl

ToveTalar

unicorn682006

vanessaSU

Winter_Genisis

Yoshiaki

***************

EXCERPT FROM PART VI OF TWO THRONES SERIES:

_SWEET CHILD OF MINE_

**Rivendell, 3rd of September 2945 T.A.**

“The view from here never gets old,” Elladan, oldest son of Elrond said. Their party had stopped at the top of the cliff overlooking Imladris, allowing their horses to rest and graze before beginning the long descent down to the valley below.

“I feel selfish,” Vildan swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. “Never in my life have I dreaded going home,” he whispered roughly.

“You are not selfish,” the son of Elrond said gently. “You are frightened and grieving.”

“How do I do this, Elladan?”

He clasped Vildan’s shoulder. “There are no easy answers, _Mellon_ _nîn_, except to love her. That is as good a start as any.”

The ache in Vildan’s chest was present throughout their long journey, but now it was as a fist crushing his heart and he could barely breathe. 

“But will it be enough?” he asked. “I can barely get past my own grief.”

“There is only one way to find out,” Elladan patted his upper back, “but we will help.”

“I am ready,” he said.

“Mount up!” Glorfindel ordered, and led them down the zig-zagged path cut into the side of the tall cliff, and when the all reached the bottom, he ordered Elladan to sound his horns, to signal the their return.

The horses were elated to finally reach their journey’s end. In the lead, Glorfindel’s stallion Asfaloth , tossed his head with a loud neigh and pranced over the high bridge and into Elrond’s courtyard as the shoes on his hooves made a few sparks over the smooth stones.

“He never tires of that trick,” Glorfindel smiled, patting the horse’s neck.

Elladan chuckled, but met Vildan’s gaze with concern. “Give _Hûrthenon _over to me,” he said, “and I will see to him while you speak to my father.”

Lord Elrond, followed by Lindir and the rest of his aides descended the steps, and after the formal greetings, urged Vildan off to the side with an hand on his back. _“In dem anden,Valendillion. De mhaer?”_

“I thank you for your concern, My Lord, but my grief is not important just now. Where is Melui?”

“Originally, we thought the familiar surroundings would help, so she remained at home with her caretaker for the first few days. It had the opposite effect, I am sorry to say. Two weeks ago, Imoved them to rooms in the West wing where it is quiet.” Elrond’s face pinched. “Melui has retreated in her own world, Vildan. If you cannot reach her and help her through this, I do not know what will happen.”

_“Ai, naergon…”_ Vildan’s eyes turned skyward, an attempt to stave off his distress. “How do I get through to her?”

“For now, your presence is enough,” Elrond said, gently. “Lindir will take you to get washed and changed, and I will take you to her.”

Twenty minutes later, they approached the fifth door on the right. “These are Arwen’s rooms, though I am sure she will not begrudge us their use. She has no plans to leave her grandparents anytime soon.” Elrond gave the door a few soft knocks.

_“Minno,” _a soft, female voice said.

Vildan took a deep breath, prayed for guidance, and turned the knob.

  
~~To be Continued in Part VI~~

_Thanks again! _


End file.
